Family Resemblance
by ferociousqueak
Summary: Shepard got it from somewhere. How does a person grow up to be the Butcher of Torfan? This fic is the sequel to Hawks and Doves.
1. Abecedarian (2158)

_abecedarian (noun): one learning the rudiments of something (as the alphabet)_

#

 _A is for asari, who found the Citadel._

 _B is for batarians, who come from Khar'shan._

 _C is for the Citadel, where all the people meet._

 _D is for Dek—_

Alli squinted into the bright glow of her 'tool. She brought her fingers together and saw the bright star called _P-_ . . . _P-ho-_ . . . she'd come back to that one. A small arrow blinked slowly off to the side, and she followed it.

"Deku-, dekoo-." She struggled with the word and turned a pleading look toward her mama.

"Mama," she said, frustration in her voice. "I don't know what this one says. It's too big."

Mama glanced up from the datapad in her hand and set it down. She was the prettiest woman in the world, but she was always prettiest when she sat next to Alli on the sofa and hung her arm around her. She looked worried right when she looked up from her datapad just now, but she looked like that a lot ever since she came back. Mr. Leadbetter had told her Mama had died saving a lot of people, and Alli had cried even though she hadn't really understood what that meant. She had a goldfish that died, and they'd had to flush it down the toilet. But then Mama came back, and they didn't have to flush her down a toilet too.

Mama smiled, but it was that unhappy smile she sometimes wore, and Alli felt bad right away that she'd interrupted her mama.

"Let me see it, starshine," she said, holding out her hand.

Alli put her wrist into her mama's hand so that she could see the planet better.

Mama looked at the word and bit her lip as she thought about it. "Tell me how much of it you can say."

Alli looked away, not quite sure if she would get it right. "Dek? But then there are two u's. Mr. Okonjo didn't say how to say that."

Mama nodded and hummed. "I see the trouble. We speak English, which doesn't usually have a double-u like that. English does have a double-o, though. What does that sound like?"

Alli beamed. She knew that one. " _Oo_! Like _food_!"

Mama smiled again, and this time it was a happy smile. "That's right. So, how do you think it sounds now?"

Alli looked at the word again and thought about the sounds the letters made together. "Dek-, dek-oo-na?"

Mama's eyes lit up and she smiled even more. Alli loved it when Mama smiled like that. "That's very good! See? I knew you could do it, starshine."

Daddy walked into the room right then, and Alli jumped down from where she was sitting next to Mama on the couch. The light of her 'tool still glowed around her wrist, and she brought it up for him to see. "Daddy!" she called. "Look at how big this word is! I can say it! Mama helped a little. It's _Dekuuna_!"

At first, he smiled as he looked down at her wrist, but the smile quickly disappeared. "What's that?"

It was a question, but Alli didn't think he was asking her. Her stomach felt like it was dropping: why wasn't he happy that she figured out such a big word? Mama answered him. "It's a reading app from Alli's preschool. The Alliance commissioned it and is using it in all the military schools. They wanted something that could get kids to learn about the galaxy as soon as possible."

Daddy made a face that didn't look happy, and when he spoke it sounded like he didn't think Alli could hear him. " _A is for asari_. What is this? Whatever happened to _a is for apple_?" He started to pace.

Mama shifted on the sofa as if she were uncomfortable. The sofa was _always_ comfortable. "It's Alliance-issued, Michael. It's for her school."

There was a line between her daddy's eyebrows, but it disappeared after Mama spoke. "I know," he said. "I just don't want her to lose her roots. You don't think it's strange to teach her the alphabet to a human language by using images of aliens? How is she supposed to relate to any of that?"

Mama shrugged one shoulder and returned to looking at the datapad in front of her. "I don't see how they're mutually exclusive. Besides, she hasn't been on Earth since she was a baby. Images from there are just as alien to her as the ones of actual aliens. And it's good that she learn about the wider galaxy."

Daddy said, "You're probably right," but Alli thought he said it weird, like he wanted to say something else. He brought up his own 'tool and scrolled through a few screens. When he found what he was looking for, he knelt beside Alli and picked up her wrist. The planet Dekuuna disappeared, and a bright red thing popped up. "Here you go, kiddo," he said, patting her hair. "When you're done with what your school wants you to read, you read that one, okay."

She smiled and gave him a kiss. "Okay, Daddy!"

 _A is for apple._

Mama turned off her 'pad and walked into the kitchen, and Daddy followed after her. They always went into the kitchen to talk because they thought she couldn't hear them in there. It also meant they were going to fight about something. Not always. But she wanted to know when they fought so that maybe she could figure out how to make them not fight anymore.

 _B is for bear._

"I understand why you gave her the new app," Mama said as she took dishes out of the washer. "But I wish you would've talked to me first."

"It's just an app, Han."

"It's a statement that you think the school is wrong about something. A statement like that should come from both of us or neither of us. No curriculum is perfect, but she needs to know we're on the same page. Fair?"

 _C is for cat._

Daddy sighed, but he sounded like he understood. "Fair," he said.

There was a kissing sound, and Alli ventured a glance over her 'tool. Mama and Daddy had their arms around each other, and Mama's head was turned away from Alli and resting on Daddy's shoulder.

"I just see how some people in the Alliance are leaning toward appeasing these aliens," Daddy said. "Even after everything they did at Shanxi. After General Williams lost all those marines. It doesn't seem right to teach kids about them before they learn about humanity and Earth. It feels like . . . I don't know, indoctrination, almost."

Mama stepped out of his arms, but she was smiling. "They _do_ learn about humanity and Earth. This little reading app just helps them learn about other things too. Besides, it was just the turians who attacked Shanxi, and even then, not all turians—"

"It doesn't have to be all of them, just enough. And Odessus is the only one I even halfway like."

Mama smiled and slapped Daddy's bum, so Alli looked back at her work.

 _D is for dog._

There was a picture of a big black dog sitting in front of a fireplace. Alli had never seen a real dog before.

"Think of it like this: she's learning how to navigate a diverse galaxy full of people with all kinds of intentions, both good and bad. The more she knows, the better prepared she'll be to defend herself if she needs to."

Daddy made that humming noise he made when he didn't want to say yes and he didn't want to say no.

Alli's stomach rumbled, and she remembered they hadn't had dinner yet. She jumped down from the sofa and scurried over to her parents. She held out her wrist to show the red thing that was there. "I'm hungry, Mama. Can we have this a thing for dinner? I want to know what red tastes like."

Mama and Daddy smiled at each other, then down at her. Mama put a hand on her shoulder and led her into the kitchen to help her make dinner.

#

The _SSV Einstein_ was the most advanced carrier Hannah had ever seen. It far outstripped any other in Alliance history. While standard carriers could house forty fighters, the _Einstein_ held sixty. It held six hundred souls heavy. Its main battery was advanced enough to be classified seven ways from Sunday. The drive core was unmatched by anything Hannah had ever seen before. The whole thing was just shy of being a damn dreadnought.

She had been tasked with writing the ship's user manual and had read the schematics for the ship toward that effort more times than she could count on her fingers and toes. She drained the last of her coffee and was about to start on the next chapter of the manual when her 'tool pinged.

 _/MS: You coming?_

Shit. She'd forgotten it was Thursday. She sent back an affirmative and closed her terminal, tidied a few stray datapads, and shut off her coffee machine for the evening. Closing and locking her office door, she changed quickly into her gym clothes and slipped on her sneakers. When she opened the door again, she caught her yeoman's attention as she rushed by him without stopping.

"Patrick, call a fast-track," she said. "I'm late. I need it waiting for me when I get to the lobby. You're dismissed once you're done."

He acknowledged, and she heard him bring up the officer's car service.

A fast-track opened its doors right as Hannah exited the office cluster. She slid onto the broad passenger bench even before the doors had fully opened and punched in the coordinates. The car closed the doors and began to slide along its rail having barely come to a rest in the first place. To relieve traffic inside Arcturus, the fast-track was designed as a rail system that moved on the outside of the station and moved passengers quickly from one quadrant to the next. Hannah was lucky enough to use one of the officer's cars and not have to bother with the more public rails. She didn't have time to stop on her way to the other side of the station.

A few minutes later, Hannah came to a stop just outside the station's largest gymnasium. She waved her credentials at the desk clerk and raced to the room Michael had reserved for them. She found him stretching his arms from side to side when she walked in.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized straight off, hoping he wouldn't dwell too much on her tardiness. "I don't know why Drescher doesn't just have a technical writer take on the manual. I'm no good at it."

Michael frowned. "She wants at least one of her officers knowing the ship inside and out. I'm sure you're fine." He released his arms and moved to his legs. "I need you to take this seriously, Hannah. You need to be here on time."

Hannah held back a sigh. Michael had been like this ever since they'd gotten back to Arcturus—prickly, on edge, less warm. It was his idea to teach her hand-to-hand combat, and she'd understood his reasons. She didn't tell him it wouldn't have made a difference on Shanxi or even in captivity because it wouldn't have done any good. As a pilot, she wasn't particularly inclined to learn grappling; as a partner, she wanted to do everything she could to put his mind at ease. Besides, who could say they'd gotten N7 training without having to actually be N7?

"I am serious, Michael," she said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. "I'm also overseeing the construction of the most advanced carrier in the Alliance Navy. That tends to take up some mental space. I'm here now, so let's get started."

She did a few quick stretches and took a stance on her side of the room. His face was still dark, but he took up his own stance opposite from her.

Michael was fast, and Hannah had had to learn to predict rather than react to his movements. Even when she guessed correctly, she was still slow and often ended up pinned on her back within thirty seconds.

But she was annoyed today. She was frustrated that Drescher was having her do something outside her skill set. She was irritated that Michael didn't even try to be understanding. She was starting to border on angry that it had been a year since she'd returned from the Citadel, and he treated her like she might shatter if he let her out of his sight.

She made the first move, sweeping his leg only a moment after he'd settled his stance. He moved quickly away, of course, and she brought her extended leg back in to push up for a kick with her other leg. He caught her foot easily and spun her around. She put her hands out to keep from falling completely and sprang out of his reach.

Michael grunted. It was the only sign of approval he ever offered, and her heart beat a little faster to hear the sound. He relaxed from his stance and took a step toward her, reaching for her hand. "Where did you learn to do that?" he asked.

She shrugged as she gave him her hand. "I just did it. It seemed like the only thing I could do to keep from falling."

He turned her wrist over and dragged two fingers down the inside. "Be careful. If you spring wrong, you'll strain these tendons. It's also really easy to break your wrists if you bring your hands down too hard or at the wrong angle. In either case, your hands will be out of commission." He smirked and winked at her. "It'll be more like hand-to-useless-stub combat after that. Try rolling away, next time." His smile faded as he released her wrist and went back to his side of the room. "Again."

They went again. And again. And again two more times after that. She ended up pinned on the mat three times: twice square on her shoulder and once on her stomach. The last round was a draw, with their legs wrapped tightly around each other. Michael hit his open palm against the mat when it was clear neither of them was going to be able to make another move.

Hannah felt less annoyed now.

She toweled the sweat from her neck and chest and gulped down her water. It didn't take long to get her breath back, and when she did, she turned to Michael with the question that had been niggling at her. "So, what if I ended up against someone who isn't human? I might be able to sweep out a batarian's legs the way you've shown me, but salarians and turians have different knee structures. And asari are pretty humanoid, but I'm sure they have different weaknesses that can be exploited."

Michael grunted. "I've thought about that. Drescher is commissioning experts to give all active N7s special training. We can't get it soon enough if you ask me." He paused to take a drink. When he was done, he looked thoughtful. "It seems strange, though. A turian is going to teach us how to bring down turians? A salarian for salarians? Can we really trust them to teach us what we need to know?"

Hannah replaced the cap on her water bottle and tossed it into her bag. "They'd be the authorities. Dess says all C-Sec agents have to know how to neutralize suspects of every race, no exceptions. She said she was surprised when it was a hanar that was the hardest to subdue during training. All those tentacles," she said wiggling her fingers at him. "Maybe the next time we see her, she can give us some pointers."

Michael closed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Yeah. Maybe. The daycare is closing soon. Let's get Alli and go home."

Definitely less warm. She tried her hardest not to let her annoyance take over, picked up her own bag, and followed him out the door.

/

 _Many heartfelt thanks to servantofclio and thievinghippo for their invaluable beta work 3_


	2. Butcher (2160-1)

_butcher (noun): one that kills ruthlessly or brutally_

#

From the moment Alli woke up, she knew it was going to be a good day. She was six after all, and not a baby anymore. And Daddy always gave her the best surprises for her birthday, and he never made her wait for them. Mama would always stay home and put up decorations, so Alli would get to have her Daddy and her birthday surprise all to herself. Like when she turned five, he took her all around the outside of Arcturus in a shuttle. He wasn't supposed to do it, but his friend Corporal Alexie didn't mind taking them for a ride as long as they didn't go too far.

It had been amazing. Daddy's friend gave her a hat and let her sit in the copilot's seat while he spun the shuttle around and made her squeal. Then Daddy turned off the gravity, picked her up, and put her in the middle of the air. It put a funny feeling in her stomach, like she was falling but she was really just standing still. He spun her around in the middle of the shuttle, and she laughed so hard her face hurt. And when she'd had enough, she hugged him tightly, still laughing uncontrollably and told him to turn on the gravity again. He did and even caught her before she could fall. Daddy was good at catching her. He'd never dropped her even once.

They went back to the cockpit after that so that he could show her all the stars. She could see every single one from there, and it made her heart feel big and fast. She knew they lived in space, but she never really saw it from home because they didn't have any windows. Maybe one day she'd get to go see some of those stars for herself like Mama and Daddy did.

That was the best birthday ever. What would he do this year?

She knew it was too early to be awake, and Mama and Daddy wouldn't like it if she went into their room just yet. Instead, she slipped out of her bed—making sure to put on her slippers so that she could walk quieter—and went over to her toy box. It took several minutes of slowly moving other toys out of the way so they didn't fall and make noise before she found what she was looking for. Her ship in hand, she padded just as quietly over to her bed and slipped back between the covers.

She knew she couldn't make the explosion noises she usually made, so she had to think of a different way to play with her ship. Maybe . . . maybe it was a rescue mission. But not from bad guys. She had to fly to the rescue of an asari princess who'd crashed and gotten stuck on some planet in the middle of nowhere. An asari queen had told Alli and her crew that she hadn't heard from her daughter in a very long time and needed to find her right away so that she could be married to a turian prince, so they left for the planet where she last was. Her ship was broken, and all her comms were down. She was hurt and Alli and her crew of trusty friends were there to help. But just as they were about to take off, volcanoes started erupting everywhere and—

Alli heard the light swish of a door opening down the hall and fell immediately onto her pillow, eyes closed tight and her ship pressed close to her chest. She thought maybe Mama or Daddy just needed a drink of water or something, but the sound of her door opening made her close her eyes tighter. She hadn't been too loud. She _hadn't_. If someone had woken up, _it wasn't her fault_. She heard a heavy step—Daddy. The sound of him laughing quietly was the only warning she had before he pounced.

"Happy birthday, birthday girl!" he said much too loudly as his fingers found all her ticklish spots. "Are you awake already? Do you know what happens to birthday girls who are awake this early?"

She was laughing and squealing too much to answer, and he lifted her from her armpits and threw her over his shoulder. She was still laughing when he carried her out into their little kitchen and set her down on the bar stool.

"So, what's it gonna be, kiddo?" he said, clapping his hands and rubbing his palms together. "Reconstituted eggs and bacon? Reconstituted pancakes? Or?" his voice got a little higher and he held up a finger as if he'd just had an idea. "What about _real_ bagels with _real_ cream cheese?"

Alli scrunched her nose, suspicious of this new thing Daddy was trying to make her eat. If it was green, she would have to say no.

He laughed at her, probably for the face she was making. "You'll like it, I promise. I had to pull a dozen strings to get everything delivered at the right time."

Alli smiled, suddenly excited. Daddy always did get the best things when he wasn't supposed to.

He pulled open the fridge door and took out two boxes. He opened one and pulled out a ring of what looked like it might be bread? He cut it in half and put it in the toaster. Yep, only bread went in there. When the two halves jumped again, he opened the second box, revealing something thick, white, and creamy. He took a knife and spread the white stuff onto the two pieces of ring bread. When both were covered, he handed her one, and took a bite of the other. Alli sniffed it, not quite sure about this new food, then took a wary bite.

It was crunchy but also smooth, and it tasted a little salty but not too much. Nothing in the whole galaxy was better. Daddy had made her the best food for her birthday, and she giggled as she chomped into the bread and cheese again.

"See?" he said, winking at her and taking another bite. "I told you you'd like it. When have I ever steered you wrong, kiddo?"

She could hardly answer him as she crunched through her bagel and cream cheese. She turned the words over and over in her head— _bagels and cream cheese, bagels and cream cheese, bagels and cream cheese_ —so that she'd know how to say them later. When she finally took her last bite, she jumped down from the stool and ran around the counter to throw her arms around his legs.

"Thank you, Daddy!" she said as she squeezed him. "That was a really good surprise."

He laughed and lifted her easily into his arms. Daddy was so strong. Alli was pretty sure it was impossible for anyone to be stronger.

"That's not your surprise, kiddo. That's just breakfast. Now go brush your teeth, wash your face, and get dressed. As soon as you're ready, I'll take you to your real surprise. Be quiet, though, and don't wake your mother."

Alli wriggled out of his arms and dashed down the hallway to the bathroom. She did what she was told and pulled on her favorite red princess dress—it had sparkles in the mesh and she liked to think she looked like she was wearing stars. It was a special day, and she wanted to wear a special dress for it.

When she met Daddy by the door, he appraised her outfit and nodded in approval. "That should work," he said. "That dress is fluffy enough for you to move around like you'll need to."

Alli slipped her hand into Daddy's as he slung a bag over his shoulder and followed him into the hallway.

Mama and Daddy said she'd been to Earth before, but Arcturus was the only place she remembered. It was really big, and it had high ceilings that even Daddy couldn't reach. Alli knew where the mess hall was, and she knew the grocery depot was only around the corner from their little apartment, but Daddy didn't walk toward those places. He pulled her a way she'd never gone before, and she didn't know if she should ask where they were going and spoil the surprise or wait and see.

It was a long walk. There weren't a lot of people in the halls yet, but a few of them recognized her and Daddy. One officer—she thought it was Tuala—even stopped to say happy birthday and that her dress was pretty. As they neared the end of the hallway, she started to hear loud banging noises. When they reached a big door, Daddy stopped and set down the bag. He pulled out ear plugs and glasses that wrapped all the way around her head and put them on her. When he was done, he reached back into the bag and pulled out ear plugs and glasses and put them on himself too.

"When we go inside," he said loudly for her to hear over the plugs, "you need to listen to everything I say. Allistair Keagan Shepard, do you understand?"

Daddy only used her full name when he was really serious, so she nodded quickly and took his hand again. When the door slid open, she saw a line of soldiers standing with raised guns and shooting off to the side. If she hadn't had her ear plugs in, she was sure it would be very loud in there. The soldiers were on the other side of a clear wall, and Daddy took her to stand with some other soldiers who were standing behind a see-through door that swung and locked against the rest of the wall.

Daddy took her to a seat and let her sit down. He knelt in front of her so that he could speak to her directly. "I'm going to start teaching you how to shoot today," he smiled, wide and bright. "I don't mean to brag, but your old man is something of a crack shot. I'm going to make sure you are too."

Alli nodded and bit her bottom lip. She wasn't sure about shooting guns. Mama always said guns were dangerous and not for playing, but if Daddy was there to show her how to do it, Mama probably knew about it, right?

An alarm sounded, and the glass door opened. Everyone who was waiting behind the glass wall walked through the door and found open booths where they could pull out their guns and get ready to practice. Daddy took her to a far booth so that they'd be away from anyone else. He brought a stepping stool over and helped her climb it. Alli had to pull up her dress so that she didn't step on it and trip.

Daddy set his bag on the table in front of them and pulled out several different guns. He set them down with the barrels pointing downrange.

Finally he pulled out a roll of big paper and let it unfurl.

"That's a turian!" Alli said, proud of herself that she could recognize the black shape even when there weren't any details. Mr. Okonjo had said she was very good at recognizing other species.

Daddy nodded but he didn't smile like he usually did when she did something right. He took one of the sheets of paper and walked onto the range to pin it up. While he worked, Alli looked at the other ranges. Everyone had up similar pieces of paper. Some of them looked like salarians—those were easy to recognize—and some looked like . . . what were they called? Batarians! She didn't see any human pictures, though.

When Daddy came back, an alarm sounded. The paper targets moved backward a little, and everyone brought up their guns to take aim. A second alarm sounded, and people started shooting. Alli was glad she had the plugs in her ears, otherwise it would've been very, very loud.

Daddy picked up one of the smaller guns and turned it over for her. "This is a pistol," he said loudly. "It's your sidearm. You only use this one when the enemy is right on top of you. It's not very good for an enemy that's far away. We'll start with this one." He put his finger through a small opening and pointed to a small, curved part of it. Alli couldn't put her finger on it, but she thought Daddy was moving and talking funny. He didn't sound soft and happy like he usually did. His voice was hard now. His back was straight and his hands moved faster than usual. "This is the trigger. You never ever put your finger on the trigger unless you mean to kill. Do you understand, Allistair? Repeat what I just said."

Alli wasn't sure about what he meant by killing, but she repeated. "You never ever put your finger on the trigger unless you mean to kill."

Daddy nodded, but he still wasn't smiling. This was very serious. "Very good. You also don't point your gun at anything you don't mean to kill, even if your finger isn't on the trigger. Repeat what I just said."

She repeated this new rule, and Daddy nodded again. "Mama says guns aren't for playing," she said.

Daddy nodded. "Mama is right. People use guns in different ways. Some people go hunting. Some people just like to hit faraway targets to show that they can. But guns like pistols and assault and sniper rifles are built with one purpose in mind. Do you know what that is?" Alli shook her head. "Their only design purpose is to kill people. When you pick one up in the field, it's because you intend to end a life. Do you understand?"

Alli didn't really, but she nodded because she knew this was something Daddy wanted her to understand. Maybe she would understand it later, and she could pretend like she always knew it.

For a second, it looked like Daddy didn't believe her and she chewed on her lower lip to keep from saying anything. "Allistair Keagan Shepard, are you sure you understand? If you don't we can stop right now."

She shook her head as fast as she could. "No, Daddy, I promise!" she said. "I understand!"

He looked at her for another long minute and then nodded. She wasn't sure if he believed her, but he didn't ask her again.

First, he showed her how to load the pistol. Her hands weren't strong enough to get all the bullets into the magazine, but Daddy said he had grippers she could use to make her stronger. She didn't know what that meant, but she knew Daddy would help her to be better at loading a gun. When the magazine was in the gun, he showed her how to chamber a round. Once again, her hands weren't quite strong enough, but she knew she'd get better one day.

One thing her hands were strong enough to do was pull the trigger. Daddy pulled up her arms and moved her elbows slightly until he nodded. He showed her how to use the iron sights instead of the targeting system, and showed her how to breathe when she pulled the trigger. When she finally did pull the trigger, he held her arms in place, otherwise they would've flown back, she was sure. Her heart pounded as she turned toward her Daddy. Had she done it right?

He chuckled, and that made her smile big. "That's a big kick, right? That's why you have to keep your arms locked, kiddo."

Downrange, there was a clean hole through the black ink that looked like a turian. It looked like she'd hit its shoulder. Alli turned toward her daddy and frowned. "I don't like shooting at pictures of turians. Ms. Dess is a turian."

Daddy nodded, but not in that way that said he would do what she wanted. "That's right," he said instead. "Odessus is a turian, but she's not like a lot of other turians. She's a friend. Most turians don't want to be your friend. There are turians your age right now who are learning how to shoot humans at this very moment. Do you want to grow up and meet those turians and not know how to defend yourself?"

Alli looked back down at the pistol in her hand. She didn't want a turian to kill her, no. Whenever people died in vids, they stopped moving and she didn't think she'd like that very much. But it still didn't feel good to practice shooting on turian targets. She didn't know how to explain it.

Daddy sighed and crossed his arms. "Would you prefer to shoot at a batarian target?"

Alli nodded eagerly. Anything but turians. She liked Ms. Dess. Ms. Dess brought her chocolate once.

Daddy looked at her very seriously and said, "Batarians are people too, Alli. If you practice shooting a target that looks like a batarian, it's not actually different from practicing on one that looks like a turian. No matter what, you're ending the life of someone who could think, feel, and try to do you harm. I'll change the targets if you want, but you need to know that it doesn't make any difference when you grow up. Killing is killing, no matter how many eyes or teeth they have."

Alli nodded again, but really she just wanted Daddy to change the target. She didn't like thinking about killing Ms. Dess. He waited for the alarm to sound again, then went onto the range to change the target. This time when Alli pulled the trigger, she hit much closer to the middle, and she kept her arms braced against the kick.

Daddy smiled and tousled her hair. "Good job, kiddo. You're a natural at this."

Alli smiled wide enough to show the gap where she'd lost a tooth, and pulled up the side of her dress to curtsy. She liked being good at things. Daddy always did have the best surprises.

#

Michael had nearly fallen asleep in the drop shuttle before Bautista kicked his feet out.

"Jump time, _cabrón_ ," she said, smirking.

He cracked his neck and stood up. Time to work.

A colony had gone dark after only a few months of settling. Maybe it was just trouble with their communications array, but the Alliance wanted to make sure. Both Michael and Bautista were tapped to lead their teams into the colony and investigate what happened. Michael's team would scout ahead while Mona's team tried to establish any kind of signal and wait to be called in for backup, if needed.

Of course, those were the official parameters. He was willing to bet good money the comms were just fine once you got past the batarian jamming signal. They were probably just going to find a lot dead bodies and a bunch of burned-out prefabs. Just like the last three colonies that went dark like this.

When the shuttle came to hover, the door slid open and Michael jumped out. Ignoring the burn in his knees, he pulled out his rifle the moment he gained his balance again. Once his team, Li and Tuala, had fallen in behind him, he held up his fist to signal silence, and they nodded their acknowledgement.

It was five klicks to the settlement, and they moved quickly through the thick woods. Inside of forty-five minutes, they'd reached the edge of the clearing. Michael put up his hand again to stop his team and took cover behind a thick tree trunk. He removed the scope from his rifle so that he could use it to see what they were in for.

Well, it wasn't just the communications array, that was for damn sure.

Even in the low light of the early morning, the evidence of attack was plain. Despite the cold humidity, the morning was clear in a million, and only a thin sheen of ice crunched underfoot—they would have to stick to the colony's perimeter to keep quiet.

Prefabs were scorched and burned out. Blood spatter was everywhere. Even the earth around the settlement had been scored and scarred. No bodies, living or dead, were visible from their current vantage point.

Michael replaced the scope, slipping into cold professionalism and bracing himself for what they might find, and motioned for his team to follow him. They skirted the tree line for another hundred meters before anything new came into view. Well-armed and armored people patrolled the premises, and judging by the four white circles in the face plates of their helmets, they were batarians. _Of fucking course. Goddamn slavers_.

Bodies were piled together on one side of the settlement, charred and still smoking. On the other side, children—none older than fifteen, if he had to guess—were huddled in cages. The huddling, it seemed, was as much from necessity as fear. The low ceiling of the cage kept all but the smallest occupants from being able to stand up straight.

Two of the hostiles approached one of the cages. One unlocked the door, and the other leaned down to grab one of the bent forms, dragging it roughly by the wrist. Most of the children pulled away to the far side of the cage. Only one—a girl about Alli's age—crawled forward to grab the other child's ankle and try to pull her back in. Michael could see her mouth form the same syllable several times, but he couldn't make it out. The slaver who'd opened the door stuck a rod through the bars, and the moment it connected with girl, she jerked and fell to the ground, seizing. The child she'd been trying to pull back also jerked as she was pulled the rest of the way out of the cage and dragged along the ground and into a nearby prefab. When the girl in the cage recovered herself, she put her face in her hands and her shoulders began to shake.

Michael put down the scope and put a finger to his neck to tap out a message to Bautista.

 _/Hostiles. More than twenty. Backup required._

It took only a moment after he sent the message to get an affirmative from her. He tapped their coordinates to her and received another affirmation. It would take another forty minutes for them to rendezvous. Forty minutes for him to grit his teeth and watch as maybe more kids got dragged away, with only one of them still willing to fight. Mona better move her ass. His trigger finger was itching something awful.

As he waited, sure enough, two more hostiles opened the cage and reached for one of the kids. The same girl crawled forward to reach for the child, slower this time. Again, she found herself on the business end of an electric prod, and she fell back to the ground. Michael was hard-pressed not to put a round through the heads of those two figures dragging the newest child toward the prefab—where the other child still hadn't reemerged and wasn't likely to. _Backup. Wait for backup_.

A hand touched Michael's shoulder lightly, and he turned his head to see Bautista beside him. He took the scope from his rifle again and handed it to her, pointing to where he'd been watching. He watched as her jaw tensed and the hand on her assault rifle tightened around the handle.

Michael indicated that his team would take up their current position as hers moved down the line thirty meters. Once in place, they'd blitz the fuck out of the hostiles. His blood buzzed while he waited for her to get into position.

Another two were approaching the cage again when he got the message that Bautista was in position. He didn't hesitate to take the shot this time. Both hostiles suddenly found themselves without heads, and another four followed in a matter of seconds. More hostiles flooded into the kill box, and Michael's and Bautista's team wordlessly lined up and took every shot available.

It was chaos in the settlement. The children screamed and cowered together in their cages, and the hostiles shouted orders at each other. Some slipped behind the prefabs; others didn't make it that far. His and Bautista's teams were clean and surgical by comparison. They'd save their whoops and celebrations for after the hostiles were cleared out completely.

A flashing burn streaked across Michael's face, and he rolled into cover just as another round buried itself into the ground where he'd just been. He took a small scope from his breast pocket and stood. Following the trajectory of that last bullet, he glanced quickly around the tree to look for the sniper. He saw no one, but he did catch a glimpse of a door that was slightly ajar in one of the prefabs.

 _/Li, sniper on your two o'clock._

A moment later, he heard Li take the shot. Michael chanced another look. He watched as the barrel of a rifle clattered forward through the open door then lay still. That was good enough for him, and he rolled back into position above his rifle.

They took out a total of sixteen hostiles before they wised up and fell back into the prefab where the two children—and likely more—had been taken. As soon as that door closed and locked, he got a message from Bautista.

 _/We'll hold position and keep the fuckers pinned. Go around the other side to cut them off._

He and his team stood and returned the way they'd come, sticking to the trees just in case. They found their way around to the other side of the settlement and made their way across the open field. No shots fired at them, and soon they were able to take cover against the burned shells of the prefabs. They staggered their advance, with Li following Michael, and Tuala following Li, and so on until they'd made their way back to the other side.

Michael could see everything up close now. The children in the cages were filthy, covered in mud and dried blood and worse. The young girl who had tried to save her comrades crawled forward and waved them over. When she spoke, it was an incomprehensible string of sounds and syllables that meant nothing to Michael. He held up a hand to stop her.

"Slow down," he said. "Li, do you recognize the language?"

Tuala leaned in close and spoke in his ear. "It's not a language, boss," she said. "A hundred credits says it's aphasia. Her brain knows what it means, but the message gets corrupted on the way to saying it."

Michael looked back at the little girl. Her hair was still partially in braids tied close to her head, but some of the rows had come undone and her hair stood on end there. A deep gash, crusted over in dried blood, ran across the left side of her head, likely from a blunt instrument. Angry red lines peaked through her collar, and her clothes were singed where she'd been repeatedly prodded. Her left eye was cloudy and had starbursts there—probably blind. She couldn't have been much older than Alli, and his stomach turned at the thought.

She looked suddenly panicked and pointed wordlessly at the prefab where the hostiles had retreated. Michael brought up his assault rifle and pointed it toward the door, but it remained securely closed and locked. He looked back at the girl. She bit her bottom lip, looking slightly lost, then turned and swept her arm out to indicate the other children. Then she bent her head forward and patted the back of neck. Finally, she pointed back at the prefab, once again verging on panicked.

Michael indicated to Li and Tuala to direct their attention to the building. Li took out a charge and slapped it to the locking mechanism of the door. He cleared out and all three took cover behind a stack of crates. It was a small explosion, but it was enough to take out the door.

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" a deep, coughing voice called out from the building. "Don't shoot! We're coming out. We're unarmed, see?" Several guns flew through the thinning smoke. Following directly after, four of the hostiles emerged with the hands held high above their heads. Two still wore their helmets, but two were uncovered, likely because they'd been in the building when the fighting started. _Batarians. Called it_ , Michael thought and nearly pulled the trigger right then and there.

"On the ground!" Li shouted, walking forward and keeping his gun trained on the one in the lead. "All of you! Keep your hands where I can see them!"

Tuala kicked out the knees of one of the hostiles, who fell with a grunt and did as Li commanded. Michael signaled to Li to keep an eye on them, then approached the prefab. Once the smoke had cleared a little more, he stuck his head inside. It appeared to be clear of hostiles, but not bodies. Several small ones had been tossed into a lifeless pile. A dozen more stood in rows on the other end of the prefab—they might as well have been lifeless too, for all the recognition they had in their eyes. Other than swaying lightly, they made no other movements. They didn't react as he approached them. When he moved the head of a young boy to examine his neck, he complied as if he were hardly more than a rag doll.

Attached to his neck was a small, silver plate that dug into his skin. When Michael tried to peal it back, he heard a familiar clicking sound behind him. "You could do that," said a deep voice, practically dripping with self-satisfaction and condescension, "but you'd fry its brain and end up owing the Hegemony more money than you make in a year for damaging its property."

Michael stilled for only a moment. In a single fluid movement, he'd let his assault rifle drop to his side—though still strapped to his shoulder—then twisted the pistol from the batarian and switched it around on him.

The four-eyed bastard had long enough to look surprised before Michael pulled the trigger. "People aren't property," he said and turned back toward the entrance to the building.

Three of the batarians lay on the ground, all with their heads uncovered again. The fourth was on his knees and still had his hands up.

"He wasn't with us!" he insisted. "We surrender!"

Michael lifted the pistol still in his hands and pressed the barrel to the batarian's forehead.

He pulled the trigger. Then he pulled the trigger three more times.


	3. Catastrophe (2161)

_catastrophe (noun): a terrible disaster_

#

This was bad.

This was _really_ bad.

Mom was going to be so mad at her if she found out.

Alli tore through her drawers looking for the mittens Gran had sent her for her birthday. Daddy had said it was a silly gift because the temperature on the station was always the same, but Mom had said Gran didn't know that and just wanted to make sure Alli was taken care of. Daddy had frowned when Mom said that and made that face that usually meant they would go talk in the kitchen later.

She found them tucked away in the corner of the drawer with her socks, and she shoved her hands into them, ignoring how scratchy and uncomfortable they felt. They weren't glowing and hot anymore, but there was no telling when it would happen again. She promised God she'd never punch anyone ever again if the gloves would work. _Please let the gloves work_.

She wasn't sure of how she was going to explain the mess in the kitchen. Or the mess on Gerald's shirt when she'd hit him and the blood started to come from his nose.

It wasn't her fault. Gerald had kicked out the crutches for one of the kindergarteners. It didn't look like it had been that bad of a fall—Alli had had far worse, she knew—but everyone heard his bones break (her stomach turned now, just thinking about it). Alli had just gotten so mad at Gerald it made her face and her hands hot, like they were on fire. Who did he think he was? No one used crutches because they thought it would be fun. Why would he make someone who was hurt even more hurt?

She hadn't thought about it when she did it. She hadn't even said anything or yelled at him. While he was standing there looking shocked, she turned him around and punched him in the middle of his face. When she saw all that red—so much red everywhere, even on her clothes—she got scared and she ran.

She ran the whole way home and didn't stop until the door was closed behind her. It was too early for Mom to be done with work, and Daddy was on a hero's mission somewhere. She was shaking when she got home and really thirsty. The cups were too high for her to reach, but only just barely. She'd stretched out her arm, trying not to think about Gerald and his stupid bloody nose, or that poor kindergartener and his broken leg, or how mad Mom was going to be—she was going to be so mad—when the whole shelf came crashing down, and she had to throw her hands over her head to keep the glasses from hitting her.

She hadn't touched them.

They were too far for her to reach.

She _swore_ she hadn't touched them.

She had waited a few seconds before she pulled her arms away from her head and brought her hands back down—and that's when she saw them glowing bright blue.

She had started to shake all over again and ran for her room, frantic to find a way to cover them up.

Now with the mittens over her hands, she took a deep breath and went back to the kitchen. Glass was everywhere. Some of the cups were plastic, and those were fine. But all the nice glasses that Mom and Daddy used when friends came over? Those were in a million pieces all over the kitchen floor. The broom was on the other side of the kitchen, so she would have to walk over the glass to get to it.

She kept her shoes on and chose her steps carefully. When the shards cleared up, she took a long step to where the broom was and pulled it out. She swept the floor slowly, brushing it into the corners around the fridge and the dishwasher. When there was a great big pile, she got out the dust pan and swept all the jagged pieces into it.

She stood there for a moment not sure what to do next. Finally, she decided to put everything in the rubbish bin and hit the button for the incinerator. She took all the plastic cups and put them in the dishwasher. They filled it up, so she hit the button for the wash. She didn't know if they would be clean by the time Mom got home, but she told God she'd never ask for anything ever again if Mom would just get home after everything was clean—

"Allistair!" Mom's voice was very loud—Mom was never loud—and she sounded like she might be about to cry—Mom never cried. "Allistair Keagan Shepard, you answer me right now if you're here!"

Alli thought about not answering. Maybe if she tried really hard, she could disappear. She'd gotten that shelf to move on its own. Maybe she could go invisible too. But if Mom was about to cry, she didn't want to make her worry more.

"I'm here!" she said, hoping she sounded like she hadn't been doing anything wrong.

When Mom turned around the corner, Alli saw that her face was very pale and there was a deep line between her eyebrows.

She fell on her knees and threw her arms around Alli. "Oh thank God you're all right. The school called and said you'd run off without telling anyone where you were going. I came here first hoping to find you." She rocked back on her heels and held Alli by the shoulders. "Why would you run away like that, Alli? It nearly gave me a heart attack."

Alli felt like something split open inside her, and she burst into tears. All she wanted to do was bury her face into Mom's neck and hug her until the tears stopped. "It was Gerald's fault," she sobbed. "If he hadn't kicked that kid, I wouldn't have hit him and—"

"You hit Gerald?" Mom sounded shocked, but she didn't pull away.

Remembering the incident made her hands throb and sting, and Alli felt furious all over again. She pushed away, the tears still streaming hot down her cheeks. "And I'd do it again! He hurt that little kid on purpose! Everybody heard his leg break when he fell!"

Mom's eyebrows crept higher and higher on her forehead, and Alli knew she was confused. "Let me back up a second. Gerald hurt another kid, you punched him, and then you ran home?"

Alli nodded vigorously, feeling defiant. Of course she'd run home. None of the teachers would've understood. Gerald always got them to side with him, and he would've gotten her in so much trouble.

Mom picked up her hands. "So, what's the deal with these? Did you hurt your knuckles? You know, I have a scar from punching someone wrong before."

Alli saw her chance and she took it. "Yeah," she said. "They're all red, and I was hoping you wouldn't notice because of the mittens."

It looked like Mom was trying not to smile when she said, "A good plan with the unfortunate effect of doing the exact opposite of what you meant to do."

Mom put back her hand so that she could lower herself to sit cross-legged on the floor, but before she could sit all the way down, she cried out and pulled back her hand like she'd burned it. Alli's heart started to race again. When Mom looked closely at her hand, she looked confused again.

"Is this glass?" she said as she started to pull at the small shard that had lodged itself into her palm. "I don't remember breaking any glass."

"Maybe it was Daddy," Alli piped up and hoped she didn't sound like she was lying. "Maybe he broke one of the glasses and just didn't do a good job cleaning it up."

"Hm, that's not like him. He's usually very thorough. I didn't think we were missing any glasses, either."

Before Alli could stop her, Mom stood and opened the cupboard.

Well, so much for asking God for help.

Mom opened her mouth to say something, then looked at the dishwasher, as if noticing that it was running for the first time. She stepped around Alli and opened the washer.

"Alli, why are all the plastic cups in here? And where are all the glasses?"

Warmth prickled behind her eyes, and Alli bit her tongue to keep the tears away. She wouldn't cry. Not again today. Instead, she set her back ramrod straight. She pointed a mittened finger at the shelf and said, "I just wanted a drink of water and all of the cups were out of reach. I think I tipped the shelf and they all came crashing down."

Mom looked at where her hand was still bleeding. "So, it wasn't your father who broke the glasses?"

Alli shifted her glance away from Mom. "I just didn't want you to be mad at me."

Mom shook her head and went to the sink to wash away the blood that was now starting to drip down her wrist. "I won't be mad over an accident, Alli. But lying is a different matter."

She watched as Mom plucked the sliver of broken glass gingerly from her hand, wincing when the blood began to flow again. She wrapped it in a paper towel, then turned back toward Alli. "Show me what happened," she said.

Alli shifted her weight from one foot to the other and felt like she was starting to sweat. She took a tentative step toward the cupboard then glanced back toward Mom, who nodded for her to keep going. She reached up to the shelf where the cups had been, stretching as far as she could. The tips of her fingers brushed the bottom edge of the shelf, and even through the mittens she was only able to feel the sharp bottom corner. Maybe Mom wouldn't notice she couldn't reach enough to make the shelf tip.

She whirled away dramatically and spread out her arms. The words came so fast now, she almost started believing they were the truth. (It's not like shelves just fell over because you looked at them wrong, right?) "And then everything just crashed! I put the plastic cups in the dish washer, and I swept up everything else. I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to break everything, but I couldn't catch them."

Mom stared at her for a long moment, but she had that faraway look, like her eyes were focused on something inside her head instead of on Alli—like she was thinking about something besides the tipped-over shelf and the broken glass. She lifted the hand that wasn't wrapped up and started rubbing at the back of her neck, but Alli thought maybe she didn't realize she was doing it. After a few seconds like that, she focused on Alli again and nodded. "If that's what you say happened, I believe you." Alli felt her shoulders relax and she let out a relieved sigh. (Mom didn't notice, did she?) "Now let's go get those mittens off and wash the red off your hands."

Mom reached out for her to guide her to the bathroom, but Alli stepped back and put her hands behind her. What if her hands had started glowing blue again under the mittens? Mom wouldn't be happy about that at all. "No thanks, Mom."

Mom pressed her lips together and hummed. "Okay. But I need to go take care of this," she said, holding up her hand. She started to walk out of the kitchen, but she turned before she got to the hallway. "I'll call your school and let them know you're here. When I'm done, you can help me move the cups to a lower shelf so that you can reach them easier. We can watch a vid afterward if you want? I'll even make popcorn."

Alli nodded eagerly. A vid and popcorn with Mom wasn't how she thought this day would end up, but she wasn't going to question it. A little voice inside said she should feel bad about lying to Mom, but Alli ignored it. It's not like her hands were going to glow like that again. It had been a one-time thing, she was sure of it.

#

Hannah drained the last of her coffee and stared at her to-do list, hoping that simply willing the items to cross themselves off would be enough. It wasn't, and there was no more coffee left in the pot.

She set her mug to the side and folded her hands across her desk before resting her forehead against them. Working was impossible—and maybe that third coffee was a nice distraction, but now too much energy hummed uncomfortably through her veins. Between Alli channeling Carrie White in the kitchen and Michael being taken into custody after he . . . well, it was a miracle she'd gotten anything done at all in the last week. She'd made a valiant effort to work at first, but over the last couple of days, she'd ignored all her calls, closed her door, and simply waited out the clock.

Well, not all her calls. Her mother did get through earlier that day, and if it was possible, that conversation had gone worse than any call from a journalist thirsty for a maudlin statement from the embattled soldier's poor wife. Sure, she'd started saccharine and supportive, but it wasn't long before the passive-aggressive I-told-you-so's started making their way into the conversation.

"I don't blame him, you understand," her mother had insisted, all preemptive conciliation. "I just have to wonder how his job affects him, sweetheart. How it affects you! All that violence. And what about Alli? What is she learning from someone like that?"

Hannah'd had to breathe and count to twenty before she was calm enough to answer with anything other than the sharpest words she knew. She resisted reminding her mother that, as a Navy pilot, she'd engaged in her fair share of violence and bloodshed too, even if she'd never looked any of her enemies in the eye. "He dotes on Alli, Mom. You know that," she said instead and knew this conversation was headed in a direction she didn't want to take. "Can we talk about literally anything else, please?"

From there, her mother transitioned into talking about her friend's daughter—a _doctor_ , you know—who just joined the Alliance Navy and wouldn't it be nice if Hannah were to meet with her and show her around Arcturus a little. _Subtle, Mom_ , she thought and quickly found a reason to end the call from there.

Her yeoman's voice rang through the comm, snapping her out of turning over their conversation in her mind for the hundredth time. "Ma'am, Admiral Drescher is calling for you." He hesitated a moment before asking, "Should I tell her you're in a meeting?" He did an admirable job of not voicing his real request: _Please don't make me lie to the admiral_.

The urge to duck Drescher's call was strong, but she still remembered what it was like to be an enlisted officer—one fresh out of Basic, no less—and took pity on the poor kid.

"It's okay, Jones. Put her through." She heard a muffled _Oh, thank God_ even through her closed door.

"Commander," Drescher's rich voice resonated over the comm, and Hannah braced herself for the dressing-down she knew she deserved for her days of slacking. "I understand you've been busy."

"You know me, ma'am," she said, hoping her voice was as steady and flat as she meant for it to be. "What can I do for you?"

"I won't take too much of your time, Commander," she said, her tone indecipherable, "but I would prefer to hold this conversation in person. Would you mind coming to my office for a few minutes? Now, if it's convenient?"

Her own guilty conscience already knew what their conversation would be about and could feel the heat of shame and embarrassment rise in her cheeks. She kept her tone even and answered, "Certainly, ma'am. I'll be right there."

They disconnected, and for a full thirty seconds, Hannah remained rooted to her chair like a petulant child shuffling her feet to delay the inevitable reprimand that was no doubt waiting for her. When she finally stood, she moved swiftly—she had to or else she would've sat right back down and refreshed her inbox again, just in case she'd missed an urgent message in the last sixty seconds (she hadn't). She saved her work (as unnecessary as refreshing her inbox) and shut down her terminal. There would be no pretense of working after she met with Drescher, she knew that much.

"Thank you, Jones, you're dismissed for the rest of your shift," she said as she closed her office door behind her. The beleaguered yeoman looked as if he were about to ask a question she really didn't want to answer, so Hannah held up a hand to stop him. "Not to worry. Today's a wash, but there's always tomorrow."

The poor yeoman hadn't been in his new position a week before the story about Michael's indiscretion in the field broke. Nonetheless, he'd kept her calendar, her tasks, and her comms clear and organized. As Hannah walked toward Drescher's office, she made a mental note to leave a commendation in Jones's permanent record. Bravery in the face of overwhelming odds didn't only happen on the battlefield, and journalists on the hunt for a fresh angle on a big story could be a considerable adversary.

She smoothed her uniform as she reached Drescher's office and was about to knock when the door slid open. The admiral was in the middle of setting down a cup of steaming tea—Assam by the smell of it—and glanced up as Hannah stood in the doorway. Of course she has real tea, Hannah thought. _As if she weren't intimidating enough_.

She smiled warmly at Hannah. "Cream and sugar?" she asked, her faint German accent giving hard edges to her consonants.

Hannah's nerves were frayed from all the coffee she'd already consumed that day, but she decided against saying so. "Black please, ma'am," she said and took the few steps toward the desk while keeping her hands at her sides to try to keep them from shaking.

Drescher's office was only slightly bigger than Hannah's, but that had more to do with space on Arcturus being at a premium than a reflection of the admiral's prestige. Still, Hannah's office was . . . _untidy_ was too harsh, but it was certainly populated with more stacks of datapads. Drescher's office, on the other hand, was impeccable, much like the admiral herself. The coffee machine and electric kettle were clear and unblemished by water spots. Not even the picture frames were a hair out of place.

Drescher sat down in her high-backed chair, slid forward a small plate of lemon slices (real lemon, not just lemon powder), and indicated the seat across from her to Hannah. She had a sudden sense of being ten years old and called to the principal's office for a stern talking to. Warily, she took the seat offered to her and pulled the tea closer.

"Relax, Commander," Drescher insisted, leaning back and leaving her own tea to cool. It wasn't delivered as an order, but some things just didn't change and one of those things was an admiral's gravity—a demeanor she wore like she'd been born with two stars already stitched to her shoulder.

Ever since the armistice that ended the war with the turians, the admiral had kept Hannah close. Drescher seemed to like her well enough on a personal level, but she also had a habit of putting more and more difficult tasks on her plate. There was no question Hannah respected the woman—and the feeling appeared to be mutual—but she sometimes wondered if maybe Drescher expected too much from her, if maybe she was about to fail her at the very next turn. Had they finally come to that turn?

The way Drescher sat across the desk from her, almost-almost smirking and with her hands folded, was not helping Hannah get a read on what to expect. When she finally took a breath to begin speaking, Hannah almost sighed in relief. "Do you know what I've been doing this week, Commander?"

"No, ma'am," she said, resisting the urge to fidget with the delicate tea cup in front of her.

She paused briefly before continuing. "I've been with the batarian ambassador to the Citadel. Do you know why I've been meeting with him?"

"I can guess, ma'am," Hannah said and silently chastised herself for taking such a light tone.

Drescher gave a full smirk at that. "Your guess would be wrong—or at most, only half right. It's true, we discussed Major Shepard's misconduct in the field, and it's true holding that discussion was the purpose of his visit. But I'm more interested in why the Hegemony sent their Citadel ambassador rather than assign that role to another individual entirely, someone who would deal with the Alliance exclusively. Do you have any idea why they would do that, Commander?"

Hannah resisted the urge to swallow. She could guess there too. "The Hegemony isn't too pleased with our expansion efforts into the Skyllian Verge. They think it belongs to them—even though it's unsettled, ma'am—and they think the Council should step in on their behalf to stop us."

Drescher nodded. "Yes, that's all true. And they sent their Citadel ambassador to remind us not only that they have one and we don't, but also that they don't consider us worthy of our own ambassador. It's been . . . an educational few days, in terms of batarian negotiation tactics."

Hannah finally gave in to the need to do something with her hands and reached for the lemon slices. Suddenly, all that nervous, uncomfortable energy inside her wasn't just from the caffeine. "Was it?" she said, knowing she was failing utterly to appear calm as her hands shook in front of her. "What terms did you negotiate? For Michael, I mean."

Drescher stared at Hannah for a moment. Her expression wasn't hard, exactly, but it was inscrutable. At last, she shook her head and looked away. "The major is up to his eyes in _scheisse_ , Commander. You know that. The batarians wanted to extradite him, if you can believe it. They said they wanted to prosecute him by military tribunal for mass murder, gross destruction of property, and a few high cultural crimes I didn't understand. I doubt they were ever serious about those charges, though." She picked up her tea and breathed deeply. She took a tentative sip, testing the heat, and set it back down, a slight frown pulling at the corner of her mouth. Drescher looked at Hannah again and continued, "As soon as we agreed to cede a colony prospect to them, they were happy. They won't pursue the matter any further."

Hannah wanted to feel relieved, but she knew that couldn't be all. She decided to press the admiral for the rest of the story. "What will the Alliance do with him?"

Drescher took another moment to consider the tea in her cup before answering. "They're scheduling his hearing as we speak." Hannah let out a long breath. "The footage from his hardsuit is damning, Commander, but he's not without friends. Many feel Commander Bautista's briefing of the incident mitigates his actions. No one is eager to see one of our best operatives wasting away in a military prison, especially when it was clear what was happening out there." Hannah sent a silent thank you to Mona as Drescher shook her head and leaned forward. "Unfortunately, we also have a parliament in its infancy, and it's full of politicians looking for a pet project to make names for themselves."

Hannah sneered and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Forgive me, ma'am, but I'm not especially tickled by the idea of what they'll want to do to him."

Drescher was perfectly still and kept her eyes on Hannah. "He killed four unarmed, surrendering batarians, Commander. No matter what Bautista has testified, that fact remains. He has, at the very least, embarrassed the Alliance and reinforced a now-increasingly unflattering reputation for humanity. There are a number of people, myself included, whose jobs will be much harder if we expect to get an embassy on the Citadel anytime soon. And the Hegemony is right: We'll never have the leverage and influence we need in the galactic community without an embassy. We need one, and sooner rather than later."

Hannah pushed the tea cup around in its saucer as she considered the admiral's words. "You're right," she said at length. "Of course you're right, ma'am. What do we need to do?"

Drescher folded her hands across her desk. "To be frank, Commander, it's not what _we_ need to do. It's what _you_ need to do." Hannah already didn't like the sound of this. "There's only so much I or anyone in the chain of command can do to rein in Major Shepard's behavior while still affording him the latitude he needs to complete his assignments. That's where you can help us." The admiral shifted in her chair and looked for all the world like she'd grown uncomfortable. "If you were to . . . put pressure on Michael—persuade him to be more judicious in the field, especially where aliens are concerned—it would go a long way to helping the Alliance recover its image."

Hannah could feel her stomach tying itself into neat little knots. "Ma'am?"

Drescher sighed. "Believe me when I say I don't like presuming so much, Commander, but I've already done everything I can by calling in a few favors for the major to get him the lightest disciplinary action possible. When he's found culpable, as is most likely, he'll be given the choice of six months of unpaid administrative leave or six months of biweekly counseling sessions." The admiral tilted her chin up and raised an eyebrow. "Given Michael's continued insistence that he has done nothing wrong, I have a feeling I know what his choice will be. And if he does choose administrative leave, your influence will be the only thing I can count on to keep him in check until he returns to active duty."

For just a moment, Hannah thought she could already hear exactly what Michael would say the moment he was released from custody. He would insist he'd done the right thing. He would blame the brass for throwing him to the wolves. He would hold up his arrest as proof that the Alliance was making itself a stooge to the Council. She'd heard similar arguments come from him enough times to know that there was no counterargument, no evidence to the contrary that Michael would hear.

An old saying about leading horses to water came to mind, but Hannah wasn't about to share that with the admiral. Instead, she took a long sip of her tea.

Drescher tilted her head at Hannah this time. "Michael was facing a formal court martial, Commander. Now he has his choice of what amounts to administrative punishments. A literal slap on the wrist might have been harsher."

Hannah nodded. "I know, ma'am, and I know what helping him must've cost you. Alli will certainly appreciate having her dad at home instead of in a cell somewhere." She said the words before she thought about them and cringed at the image they brought to mind. The question she'd been trying to ignore this whole week pushed to the front of her thoughts: _what would she tell Alli about all this?_ "Thank you, ma'am. I'll do my best. Who knows? Maybe six months off is just what he needs to get his head back in the game."

Drescher nodded, but her expression had become unreadable again. "It's possible. Perhaps you could take some time for yourself as well. The two of you could go somewhere to get your minds off everything. It's been a few years since you've been back to Earth, hasn't it?" Hannah thought back to the conversation she'd just had with her mother and knew immediately that Earth was the last place she wanted to go right now. Before she could politely step around that suggestion, however, Drescher offered another one. "Or maybe you could go to the Citadel. A little cultural exposure could go a long way. Doesn't your pilot friend live there?"

Hannah suppressed the wince that threatened to escape her. Dess had definitely been a talented  
pilot . . . before Shanxi. She'd risked a lot—including her career—to help Hannah get to the Citadel to bring the conflict between the Alliance and the Hierarchy to the Council's attention. In the end, she'd been unceremoniously discharged by the Hierarchy military, and Hannah still felt responsible. "She works for Citadel Security now, ma'am," she offered. "Internal Affairs."

Drescher's eyes brightened as she seemed to remember the sequence of events that ended the war, and she smiled. "That's right. You helped her get that position, if memory serves. You probably could've had just about anything you asked for after the way that commander interrogated you; I think you surprised General Vittoro by giving that privilege to one of her people instead." Strictly speaking, this was true—anything less would've seemed ungrateful and unfair. But really, Hannah had just made sure her friend's life didn't turn out as badly as it could've (and was about to). Drescher stood, signaling the end of the conversation, and held out her hand to Hannah. "I'm glad you've stayed in contact with her, Commander. I wish more of my officers could move so easily among the other races. Right now, however, I wish one in particular could be more like you. I don't care how you do it, but get him to see reason."

Hannah stood and took the admiral's hand. "Yes, ma'am, I'll try."

The moment she was down the hall from the admiral's office, Hannah all but ran to the nearest fast track. She'd been right about not wanting to be around anyone after that meeting.

As soon as her apartment door closed behind her, she checked the time—1402—and started shrugging out of her uniform. She had three hours until she had to pick up Alli from the school's afternoon care, and she needed to do something in that time to get her mind off of everything that was weighing down on her. All thoughts about Alli maybe being a biotic or Michael having come so close to a formal court martial—let alone what she was going to do about any of it—had to stop, if only for a little while.

She changed into the loosest clothes she owned and let her hair fall down her back, then hesitated with her fingers brushing against the chain to her dog tags. The light, constant weight, always cool against her skin, was a familiar presence that she rarely removed for longer than the time it took to shower. Right now, however, the responsibilities they demanded from her were monumental—far more than she felt she could handle all at once and even less so all on her own.

She slipped them off and set them on her nightstand. She would put them on again, and soon, but . . . not yet.

She kept the lights low as she walked through the apartment and curled up on the sofa in the living room. The light from her 'tool would be more than enough to read by, and if she dozed, she didn't want to have to get up to turn off any lights.

At least, that was the plan. As she scrolled through the list of titles, though, she found her thoughts wandering and wondering what might've happened if she'd met someone more like Michael on Shanxi. The turians had lost plenty of good soldiers even before the Second Fleet had arrived. Hannah could've easily found herself face to face with someone far less reasonable than Dess, someone looking for retribution.

A sharp pain shot through her neck and shoulders, and she closed her eyes waiting for it to pass. Even after years of restorative therapy to repair the nerve damage she'd gotten during her time as a POW on the turian warship that attacked the colony, white-hot pain still flared in her neck and back on occasion, and there was nothing she could do for it. Her doctor said it was psychosomatic, but shockingly, that diagnosis didn't seem to make it go away.

Hannah knew it would be a while before she could focus on any words in front of her, so she closed her 'tool and instead reached for the nearest comm unit.

After only a moment, a familiar, flanged voice answered, "I wondered if you might call."

Hannah sighed and closed her eyes, digging her fingers into the muscles of her neck and shoulder. "So, I guess everyone on the Citadel is talking about it then?"

"Do you want the truth or a lie?" Dess did her best to sound lighthearted, but Hannah had gotten better at hearing meaning in her dual tones and could sense the hesitation.

"Surprise me."

"All right then. It's hardly a story at all. It's a blip on the radar. None of the major news outlets can be bothered even to look into it." There was real amusement in her voice now.

Hannah couldn't help a wry smile. "That bad?"

"Who said I decided to lie?" She paused for a long moment, and when she spoke again, the amusement had transformed into quiet concern. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Thoughts about Alli and Michael and her mother and Drescher all jostled together in her mind, and the pain in her neck burned hotter. "No," she said and felt her voice break.

Without missing a beat, Dess switched easily back to lighthearted and said, "Good. I wanted to talk about something else. Guess who has the new high score at the Arena's combat flight sim?"

Hannah felt a wave of gratitude wash over her and she smirked. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"That hurts, Han," she said, mock sadness trembling in her voice. "Would I make up something like that?"

"Absolutely. I'm afraid I need to see official proof." Her 'tool pinged and an image of the Armax Arsenal Arena leader board popped up with Dess's name right at the top. "Big deal. Those civilian sims are rigged to give players an ego boost."

"Please," Dess said, laughter on the edges of her voice. "Armax is a turian company. We don't have civilians."

Hannah pulled up her most recent score from the Arcturus combat flight sim. "All right then, hot shot. Let's see if you can beat this."

She heard a ping come from Dess's end and an unimpressed hum. "I suppose the Alliance has to boost morale somehow. What difficulty setting did you use? Infant?"

Hannah laughed outright at that and felt the muscles in her neck start to loosen. They'd started trading sim scores when Hannah's work on _Einstein_ had kept her grounded for longer than she'd liked. That was three years ago, now, and it had been a continual show of one-upmanship ever since.

Dess turned her attention to the million little things that made up her life on the Citadel—a new restaurant specializing in Taetrian cuisine opening in her ward, Sana dragging Dess to watch the new vid _Fleet and Flotilla_ about half a dozen times, Dess being assigned a new partner in IA—and little by little, Hannah felt the pain ebbing until it was a dull throb. Before she knew it, the clock showed 1630, and she realized she would have to leave soon to retrieve Alli. (If she felt disappointed at having to end their call, she didn't acknowledge it.)

"I know you have to go," Dess said (and if Hannah heard disappointment there too, she pretended not to), "but I was thinking it might be good if you took a break. You're under a lot of pressure with everything, and I'm sure Drescher would grant you leave if you asked." For a moment it sounded like her voice faltered, but it was just a cough. "I just mean that if you need to get away for a while, we have a room you could use. I know Sana would love to see you."

Hannah's heart beat a little faster; she hadn't mentioned Drescher's suggestion in their conversation. "I'd love to see her too," she said, smiling. "I was thinking about heading out that way soon anyway. Let me get a few things in order here, and we'll make plans."

They said their goodbyes after that and disconnected. Hannah rubbed her neck one last time, working out the remaining kinks and stood again. She walked slowly back to the bedroom where her dog tags waited for her on her nightstand. She picked them up again—had they gotten heavier since she took them off?—and let the chain fall through her fingers as she passed her thumb over the raised lettering of her name, rank, and serial number. She bent her head forward and returned her tags to their place against her breast.

(If she gave a resigned sigh, no one was around to hear it or offer to help her through the trials awaiting her on the other side of the door.)


	4. Dog (2162)

_dog: (noun) a highly variable domestic animal (Canis familiaris) closely related to the gray wolf; (verb) to hunt, track, or follow like a hound; to bother or pester persistently_

#

The Citadel was amazing!

They'd done so many things since they got there. The first thing they did was go through customs, which was boring, but Alli kept herself busy by having Daddy lift her so that she could see over the people and look out the giant windows. She'd never seen such a pretty purple, and she wondered if maybe the next dress Gran made for her could be in that color.

After that, they went to their hotel near the Presidium—which was an adventure in itself with trying to figure out which chairs she could sit in comfortably. Mom had wanted to stay with Ms. Dess and Ms. Sana, but Daddy had said it would be more fun for Alli if they stayed in a hotel. She was disappointed at first—Mom's friends were the only aliens she knew, and she like them—but then they got to the hotel, and Alli was much happier with Daddy's choice. There were so many different kinds of aliens just sitting around the lobby like it was nothing. When her parents weren't looking, she turned off her translator and listened to how they sounded—she'd never heard so many spoken sounds before. And a quick peak into the restaurant's café showed her a spread of food of every color, both steaming and cold, and her stomach grumbled to try them all.

For a week, they saw Ms. Dess and Ms. Sana nearly every day, and after only a day, she'd seen more aliens than she could count. They were everywhere! There was the krogan trimming the trees on the Presidium. There were all those salarians in the marketplace. There was that elcor that shook the floor when they walked past. And there were the volus, who waddled around in those suits. Alli asked Ms. Dess if there were any volus around who didn't wear suits and she shook her head, saying they would die without them. (Alli didn't want to see them die, but she was disappointed she wouldn't get to see what they really looked like.)

And there were so many turians and asari around, not just Ms. Dess and Ms. Sana. A lot of the turians wore the same clothes as Ms. Dess, and she said that was because they worked for the police too.

It was the asari, though, that got her attention.

So elegant. So graceful. Alli was sure they must've been a whole race of queens and princesses, but Ms. Sana told her the asari hadn't had any kind of monarchy in thousands and thousands of years. Alli saw Mom tilt her head at Ms. Sana and give her a hard look. The asari's eyes went wide, and she quickly explained they had republics instead.

"We might not have queens and princesses, but that's because our citizens rule themselves directly. Our republics might not always make popular decisions, but because they require us to work together, any citizen of an asari republic can feel confident our laws are fair and just, with everyone's needs and views carefully considered." Daddy snorted, but Ms. Sana continued like she hadn't heard him, "If only one person made the hard decisions, people would feel left out—or worse, oppressed. It is better to work together than alone. We are stronger that way."

Alli cocked her head. "What does _oppressed_ mean?"

Ms. Sana tapped Alli's wrist. "You have an omni-tool, and your omni-tool has a dictionary. I am sure you can find its meaning there."

Alli spoke the word into her 'tool, and a short definition popped up: _to treat (a person or group of people) in a cruel or unfair way_. She hadn't realized a queen might do something like that.

Daddy snorted again. "If republics are so great, why did the asari make the Council so small? Three people ruling over trillions? Doesn't sound representative to me." He didn't sound angry, not exactly. But there was an edge in his voice that made Alli shift her weight from one foot to the other.

Ms. Dess's mandibles flared and it look like she was about to answer, but Mom sighed loudly, stopping her.

"Michael," Mom said, pinching the bridge of her nose and sounding tired. "Let's skip the part where we talk about politics, please. I get enough of that at work and we're on leave. We're here to have a good time."

It was a little harder to have a good time after that, but Alli was eager to try.

Next, they went to a fancy restaurant that made a bunch of different kinds of food. Daddy was still quiet, but he seemed less tense. Mom seemed more relaxed too.

Alli and Daddy had cheeseburgers—made from the best vat meat she'd ever tasted—and Mom had something that was asari. Ms. Dess had something that smelled yummy and looked like it was also real meat, but Mom stopped her when she asked for a bite.

"You'll get sick, starshine," she said. "Dess is eating something only turians can eat. Technically, quarians could eat it, but they don't eat meat."

Alli crinkled up her nose, trying to remember if she'd learned about quarians in school. She remembered something about masks but couldn't think of what they looked like. Maybe they were like the volus. Turning to Ms. Dess, she asked if she'd ever seen a quarian on the Citadel. In answer, Ms. Dess put down the weird thing that looked like a fork missing a couple pokers and scanned the restaurant. She flicked out her mandibles—Mom said that's how turians smile—and pointed behind Alli.

"If you look over there, you'll see a quarian for yourself," she said, her voice humming in that weird turian way.

Alli whipped around to see someone with a red mask and hood clearing dishes from an empty table. They had three fingers and weird knees, just like Ms. Dess, but she couldn't tell anything else about them because they were covered from head to toe.

"He should not be doing that kind of work," Ms. Sana said, and it sounded like she was unhappy. "Steam, soapy water, bleach, knives, hot pots and pans, open fires. It is only a matter of time before he has a suit rupture. The owner should know that."

Alli turned around again toward Ms. Sana. "What's a suit rupture?"

"It's like getting a hole in your clothes. Except quarians get very sick when that happens," Ms. Dess explained. Her mandibles were pulled close to her face now, so was that the opposite of a smile? "I'm sure he knows what he's doing. This is probably the only job he could get on the Citadel. A hundred credits says the owner's a batarian."

Daddy cleared his throat and let his fork clatter onto his plate as he leaned back in his chair. Mom didn't stop smiling, but her eyes didn't look like she was happy.

Ms. Sana made a _tsk_ noise at Ms. Dess. "That is an ignorant thing to say. Slavery might be part of their culture, but that does not make every batarian a slaver."

Then Daddy stood up and said he had to go wash his hands. Mom shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable.

"I think the less said on the subject of batarians and slavers, the better," Mom said, her voice low and quiet, after Daddy had turned the corner to the restroom.

Ms. Sana's face seemed to turn a little purple, and she put a hand to her mouth and apologized. No one talked about the quarian anymore. Before they left, though, an angry asari came out of the kitchen and started scolding the quarian, but too quietly for anyone around to hear.

"I believe you owe me one hundred credits, dear cousin," Ms. Sana said, also quietly. Ms. Dess just hummed.

The next day, everyone seemed to be in a good mood again. They had gone all the way up to the place where the Council met and made decisions for the galaxy. Ms. Dess was at work that day, so it was Ms. Sana who showed them everything. Alli liked Ms. Sana. She was so pretty and always seemed to be smiling, and that made Alli smile. She was soft, like Mom, and she let Alli ask as many questions as she wanted. Alli liked holding her hand when they went places.

The trees were her favorite part because they glowed. They ate at the same restaurant for dinner, and she saw the same quarian clearing the tables. The same asari came out to scold him again, even though Alli couldn't see that he was doing anything wrong. The food was starting to not taste so good.

Ms. Dess was free the next day and told them she was taking them to a surprise place. When they got there, it was all bright blue and yellow lights and people walking around in armor. Mom seemed to figure out where they were the fastest because she picked Alli up and spun her around.

"You get to see your mom kick some ass today!" she said, smiling brightly.

"Language, Han," Daddy said, but he was smiling too.

Mom set Alli down and slung an arm around his waist. "Of course, dear," she said. "How could I forget? Alli, you're about to see your mom kick some serious, turian ass." She turned and pointed a finger at Ms. Dess. "Provided she doesn't cheat this time and run her plane into mine. I don't think the simulators can keep up with my super human reflexes and hacking skills."

Ms. Dess flared out her mandibles in what must've been a really big smile (Alli could even see her teeth). "Please, Han, I don't need to cheat. I got behind you before, and I'll do it again. In fact, I should probably go easy on you so you feel like it's a fair fight."

Mom and Ms. Dess took big, confident steps toward the simulator while they teased each other, and Alli, Daddy, and Ms. Sana went off toward the spectator room. Ms. Sana bought them a snack—something salty, but she couldn't tell what it was—and they settled into their seats to wait for Mom and Ms. Dess to show up on the screen. Other people were around too, and it sounded like some of them were making bets.

"No way the human is going to beat the turian," an alien with four eyes— _a batarian_ , she reminded herself—said to an asari standing next to them. "They just don't have the discipline."

"I don't know, Brok," the asari said, scrunching up her forehead. "I got in a scrape with some human mercs not too long ago, and they're a lot tougher than they look. And these two look like they know each other. I say it's even odds."

The batarian, Brok, shook his head. "These two are fighter jocks, not dumb grunts on the ground. No way a human can match a turian for discipline and precision."

Daddy stood up and mumbled something about having to wash his hands, so Ms. Sana took his bowl of something-salty to hold for him. At that moment, the giant display came alive, and Alli could see what looked like a beach with thick jungle behind it. Except the jungle was really shiny, almost like chrome. The leaves fluttered like something was moving behind them.

"Ha!" Ms. Dess's voice rang across the speakers. "I trained on Palaven, Han. You don't stand a chance."

"That's okay, Dess," Mom's voice answered. "I'll let you get comfortable. Let you get sloppy. You'll be easy pickins after that."

Two fighter planes came into view and started shooting at each other. One of them looked like the interceptor planes that Alli saw all the time on Arcturus; the other looked weird, like an upside-down y. Alli guessed that Mom was probably in the interceptor, which would mean Ms. Dess was in the weird-looking fighter.

Alli leaned over to Ms. Sana and asked loudly over the din of the crowd, "Who do you think is going to win?"

Ms. Sana shrugged one shoulder as she took a bite of the something-salty. "It is hard to say, _ma'dulcissi_. Both your mother and Odessus are equally matched. They fought for real once—"

"What did you call me?" Alli hadn't recognized that word. And it was hard to imagine Mom and Ms. Dess fighting because they seemed to like each other so much, but she would ask about that next.

"I called you _ma'dulcissi_. It is something turians call fledglings. My father used to call me that all the time. It means something like 'my sweet,' I think. It is part of a closed dialect, so your translator did not change it for you." Ms. Sana turned toward Alli and looked her steadily in the eyes. "I can call you something else if you like. It was a reflexive endearment, but I can change it if you prefer."

Alli thought about it for a moment and shook her head, smiling. "No," she said. "I like that. When did Mom and fight for—"

"What did I miss?" Daddy asked as he sat down and took his snack again.

"They just started!" Alli offered. "Ms. Dess said they're on Palaven. That's the turian home world!"

Mom and Ms. Dess went several rounds, shooting each other down each time. They flew everywhere, dodging and weaving. Alli never knew her mom could do all that. She felt like going up to that batarian and letting him know that the human he thought could never match up to a turian was her mom. But she stayed where she was and smiled as big as she could when she heard people cheering whenever Mom scored a point or won a match.

It was the last round that was the most exciting, though. For that round, Mom and Ms. Dess fought on the same team instead of against each other. They flew over a world that already looked like a bomb had gone off on it, and they shot down other planes that were much larger than theirs.

"This scene is a reenactment of one of the defining battles in the Krogan Rebellions," Ms. Sana said, leaning over and explaining the history. So Mom and Ms. Dess were supposed to be fighting against krogan. Were there krogan fighting in the sim, or were all the enemies just pretend?

Mom and Ms. Dess finally came out of the simulator, each one throwing an arm around the other's shoulder and laughing. No krogan came out of the simulator, though. All those planes they shot down had just been the computer after all. That made her stomach feel funny, and she hoped no krogan had seen that Mom was killing them for pretend.

"Well, that explains it," that batarian, Brok, said loudly. "The turian must've been going easy on the human. I thought this was supposed to a fair fight, not rigged. The turian obviously threw at least a few of the rounds."

The asari shook her head. "No, Brok. There's no way you're getting out of paying me."

Daddy stood up quickly and headed toward Mom and Ms. Dess, and Alli had to run to catch up with him. They'd ended up with almost the same score, but Mom had just barely shot down more fighters than Ms. Dess. Daddy smiled at Mom as she approached, but it seemed like he was trying too hard.

"I knew you could do it, Han," he said as Mom slung her arms around his waist again. "You're the best pilot I know."

"And here I thought I was starting to get rusty," Mom said still grinning and a little out of breath. "Clearly, I'm unmatched. Still."

Ms. Dess waved a hand. "Please, I let you have that last one. I figured your ego needed something to make it feel better about being stuck behind a desk for so long."

"It's true, it has been a while. I'll have to jump back in the simulator before the _Einstein_ finally gets shipped out. But right now I'm famished. Is there a place to eat near here?"

Alli was relieved when they found somewhere other than that diner with the quarian this time. The food tasted better.

Ms. Dess had to work again the next day, and Ms. Sana took them to the markets in the Wards. There were even more aliens here than there had been on the Presidium. There were way more krogan and even a lot more quarians too. There were even these pink aliens that didn't look like anything she'd ever seen—a little bit like a jellyfish from Earth, maybe. Ms. Sana said they were called hanar, and Alli played with the word in her mouth, trying to see how it felt.

Mom bought her a game for her 'tool, and Ms. Sana bought her some asari candy. Mom was a little worried about that, but Ms. Sana told her it was mostly just complex carbohydrates—whatever those were—and that Alli would be fine. Somehow, that didn't make Mom less worried.

Daddy looked mostly bored until they found a store that sold weapon mods—then he was very focused on everything in front of him.

"Han!" he said calling to Mom. "You gotta see this! It's a smart choke for the M-88. And look at this suppressor! It'll fit most SMG models, even. Imagine the damage I could with that and no one would even notice!"

Alli felt like her face was getting hot, and she rubbed her palms against the fabric of her pants. Back when Daddy had tried to teach her how to shoot, Mom had been really mad. She hadn't yelled or anything, but they didn't sleep in the same room that night. When Daddy finally said he'd wait to teach her until Alli was older, Mom finally seemed to be less angry and things went back to normal. What if she got mad again because Daddy was looking at all these gun mods?

But the look on her face said she wasn't mad. She looked . . . like she thought he was funny. One corner of her mouth was turned up in a smile when she looked at Daddy, so Alli relaxed a little.

"As long as you can get the Alliance to pay—"

"Alliance?" the shopkeeper said, speaking over anything Mom was saying. "As in the Human Alliance?"

"Systems Alliance," Daddy corrected the batarian and his face went flat, no longer smiling.

"You're going to have to leave. I don't sell anything to the Alliance," the shopkeeper said and stepped toward Daddy, making him take a step back to keep his personal space.

Daddy balled up his fists and leaned into the batarian. "So if I was a merc or a criminal, you wouldn't have a problem selling me ways to kill people better?"

The batarian tilted their head to the right at Daddy. "If you were a merc or a criminal, you wouldn't be trying to colonize worlds that weren't yours to take, human. Now please leave."

Mom put a hand on Daddy's arm. She wasn't smiling anymore. "Come on, Michael. We can go somewhere else."

The batarian shopkeeper laughed loudly as they turned around and started to leave the store. "Right. You can always go somewhere else. Who do you think wants to deal with you? Do yourselves a favor and go back to your Human Alliance. No one wants you around here."

Daddy pulled his arm loose from Mom, and started to take a step toward the shopkeeper. Alli's heart started to pound and she didn't know what she wanted. The shopkeeper was being unfair to Daddy and saying mean things, just like that batarian at the combat arena the night before. It was like how that restaurant manager was mean to that quarian who was clearing the table at the restaurant.

Alli felt the sweat start to break out on her forehead and neck. Daddy had just been looking at the display case! He wasn't doing anything wrong! And now it looked like he was about to get in a fight with the shopkeeper, and Mom had told Alli not to get in anymore fights since Gerald. Was Daddy allowed to get in fights? She didn't think so, but the shopkeeper was being really mean. Was Daddy just supposed to leave? Alli wanted to hit him too! Her head felt hot and the hair began to stand on her arms.

Her fingers tingled like they'd fallen asleep, and when she looked town, a blue light was curling around them.

"Daddy, I need to go wash my hands!" Alli almost shouted.

Her hands felt so weird, like they were hot and cold all at once. And it wasn't just her hands. Her head was hot, and she felt like all her hair was standing on end. Her stomach turned, but not like she was going to throw up. It was like she was being pulled in every direction at once, and if she didn't say something, she was going to fly apart.

Ms. Sana gasped and said, "Hannah! Why did you not tell me Allistair is a biotic!"

A what? Why was Ms. Sana smiling? Didn't she see that something very wrong was happening?

She turned back to look at Mom, but she was shaking her head at the asari and put a hand on Alli's back to usher them out of the store. Alli rubbed her palms against her clothes, harder this time. She'd been so good. Why was this happening? What had she done wrong this time? It was the shopkeeper's fault, she was sure of it. It was just like that time with Gerald. Her hands would've been just fine if he hadn't bullied Daddy.

Daddy seemed to forget all about the batarian and followed Mom out of the store and into a side hallway, where red light covered everything and one of those green bug things fiddled at a terminal. Hardly anyone was around when he caught up to her and grabbed her elbow. Alli turned and grabbed Mom's other hand, trying to get both of them to stop.

When he was close to her, he said in a low voice, "I thought you said it wasn't happening anymore." Alli thought maybe he hadn't wanted her to hear him, but she had.

"Not now, Michael," Mom said just as low.

The door to the hallway swished open, and Ms. Sana jogged to catch up to them. The asari looked confused and glanced between Mom and Daddy, her face turning stony. "Is there a problem?"

Mom shifted her weight and glanced sideways at Daddy, and he dropped his hand from her arm. She cleared her throat and said, "She's only done that a couple of times, and I don't think it's really something that's very strong in her. It's not something to worry about."

"Hannah," Ms. Sana looked like she didn't believe what Mom was saying, but she kept her eyes on Daddy, "no one starts out a commando. She needs training."

Mom closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "If we did that, she'd be registered with the Alliance as a biotic. They'd tag and collar her. Probably send her off to BAaT in a few years. There's no getting out of the system once you're in."

Ms. Sana shook her head. "If she does not learn to control her biotics, they will control her. She needs assistance."

"I'm right here," Alli said—almost shouted—the heat in her face rising. She crossed her arms and glared at the adults above her. "I can hear you."

Everyone looked at her at that moment, as if she'd suddenly sprouted a second head. Did they really not know she could hear it when they talked about her in front of her? She didn't know what biotics or BAaT were, but they sounded bad. Alli felt angry all of a sudden that Mom might've known about what was happening and just hadn't told her. Why not? Did she think Alli was stupid or a baby or something?

"You're right, Alli," Mom said and looked sad. "I'm sorry. Is there something you'd like to say?"

Alli swallowed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other before she decided what to say. "Is this bad? Naomi started glowing too, and everyone at school calls her a freak. Am I a freak?"

Ms. Sana shook her head and put her hand on Alli's shoulder. "Of course not, _ma'dulcissi_. Every asari is a biotic." She smirked and said, "That means I am a biotic too. Do you think I am a freak?"

Alli quickly shook her head. "No! You're perfect!" But then the worry came back as she thought of the hard words between Mom and Dad. "But you guys don't like it."

"We're not upset at you, kiddo," Daddy said, his voice a lot softer than it had been with the batarian a few minutes ago or even with Mom after that. "It's just that biotics are new to humans, and not everyone knows what to do with them yet."

Mom started walking back and forth and wringing her hands. There was no one in the hallway with them, but she kept looking around to make sure they were alone. "And that's why the Alliance wants to count you—so they know how many people are like you and the things you can do. They'll help you, but it might be a little scary. They might even send you to a school that's not on Arcturus."

Alli didn't like that idea at all. "Will it ever go away? Maybe it's just like being sick or something, and I'll get better soon. Maybe there's medicine I can take."

Ms. Sana smiled at her, but it was a sad smile. "It will not go away, Allistair, because it is not a sickness. But if you let it, it can be a great strength."

"So," she said slowly, not quite able to meet anyone's gaze, "I'm going to have to go away?"

No one answered her at first. No one even looked at her. She was definitely going to have to go away. Who was going to take care of the class hamster? Definitely not Gerald. And they were going to take a field trip to see the parliament's new chambers on Arcturus. Was she going to have to miss that?

And what about Mom and Daddy? Would they be angry at each other even more if she wasn't there? Or maybe . . . maybe they'd be less angry. If she was gone long enough, would they decide to have another kid and forget about her? Just start over and be happier this time?

Ms. Sana finally pursed her lips and turned toward Mom and Dad. "If it would help, I can teach her," she offered. "I am not a trained instructor, but I have been a biotic for more than four hundred years. I can show her the basics of how to control it, at least while she is still immature. Once she reaches puberty and her brain begins to change, you will need to find another alternative. I can help until that time comes."

Daddy's face went pale, and he turned away from them, rubbing his hand down his face. Mom shook her head. "That's a generous offer, Sana, but it's not practical. You live here. We live on Arcturus. The Alliance monitors all communication going through the station."

The corner of Ms. Sana's mouth turned up again. "Do not tell me the Alliance is against dancing." When Mom and Dad continued to look confused, she went on, "Controlling biotics is largely a matter of physical mnemonics. Right now, her emotions, especially ones of distress such as the conflict a moment ago elicited, bring up her corona. Associating her biotics with physical movements makes them easier to control. If you want to keep the Alliance in the dark about her, I can send instructions on how to dance instead. At the very least, it can be an interim solution until you find something better."

Alli liked the idea of dancing. She could be like a ballerina! And if it would help her to not glow in front of the other kids, she would do it.

"I want Ms. Sana to teach me how to dance," she said firmly. "I don't want the other kids to make fun of me if I start glowing on accident."

"It's not that easy, kiddo," Daddy started, but Mom glared at him. "What? They'll have to put all those wires in her head eventually. You want me to lie about that?"

"Michael!" Mom snapped.

Alli closed her eyes and saw an image of wires wrapping and glowing around her brain. Maybe they wouldn't have to do that. If she was good enough, she would be able to keep anyone from knowing. If no one besides Mom and Daddy and Ms. Sana knew, then no one would have to put wires in her head, right?

"It doesn't matter," Alli said, knowing deep in her gut that it mattered a lot. But Mom and Daddy were going to argue over this if she didn't say something now. "I want Ms. Sana to teach me."

Mom and Daddy stood up straight and looked at each other for a few long moments. Their eyes and mouths shifted rapidly, like they were talking even though they weren't saying any words. Eventually, Daddy shrugged one shoulder and turned away.

Mom knelt down again and took both of Alli's hands in her own. "All right, Allistair. If you want to learn, Ms. Sana will teach you. But you don't have to do this."

"I want to learn," Alli said, squaring her jaw just like Mom did went she meant what she said.

A small smile passed over Mom's mouth, almost too quickly for Alli to notice it. Then she stood again and turned toward Ms. Sana.

"I think it's just about lunchtime, Sana. Do you know anyplace around here for us to eat?"

#

The ploy was obvious.

"We've both been to the Citadel, but we didn't really get to see it," Han had said. "And I think it would be educational for Alli."

For him. It was supposed to be educational _for him_.

But what was he going to do? Say no? Say he wasn't going to the Citadel? That wasn't really an option, was it?

As if interacting with more aliens would make him less . . . whatever it was people were saying he was after the incident with the batarians at that colony. None of them had seen what he'd seen them do. What was he supposed to do when they were rounding up humans like cattle and taking them as slaves? Slap them on the wrist? Tell them to run along and stop doing that? Fuck their surrender. He'd do it again and gladly.

Did it make him a xenophobe because he wanted to protect humans from those aliens who didn't even see them as people? Michael had always been an optimist, but he wasn't a fool. It was a big galaxy out there, and he had yet to see a friendly face that wasn't human.

In a different world, maybe humanity could've been welcomed with open arms. If it hadn't been for the turians' zeal for war, if they hadn't attacked Shanxi, maybe the Alliance would've had a chance at coming onto the galactic stage peacefully. But that's not the world they lived in. Humanity was smeared even for the slightest offenses in every news outlet coming from the Citadel. Pundits and politicians alike were not shy about expressing unfavorable opinions of humans in general—of him in particular, lately.

Drescher had said he was killing too many aliens in the field. What did that mean? Was he supposed to kill more humans? What if he was killing more aliens because more aliens were trying to kill humans? Statistical averages didn't give a complete story. Did it really surprise anyone that more aliens than humans were trying to kill humans? If the Alliance really wanted to stop it, they would put more energy into recruitment. But if they weren't doing that already, their resources were probably already stretched thin. Not their fault humanity found itself in a hostile galaxy.

No amount of "education" on the Citadel was going to change the reality that humanity was vulnerable. The politicians might be bent on appeasement, but that wasn't going to protect people. Buying into the system was the best way to guarantee that humans victimized by aliens would just be ignored—because that was the system. That's not what Michael had signed up for.

Still asleep, Han moved an arm heavily toward him. It was well into the night cycle on the Citadel now, and their hotel room was quiet except for the steady breathing of his wife and daughter. Han put her arm out again, looking for him, and he pressed closer to her, if only to keep her from waking.

It amazed him how well she could sleep. But then, she hadn't been on Shanxi, not really. And she wasn't out in the Traverse fighting batarian slavers or asari red sand smugglers or krogan mercs hired to protect shipments of illegal weapon mods. Was it any wonder that she still thought that everyone could just get along? That all it would take was a little education to understand each other? She didn't know these aliens like he did—by their destruction, their violence, their unquestioning hatred of humans. She didn't understand that her turian friend was the exception, not the rule. Trying to explain that to her, though, would've been fruitless, and he knew he'd only end up hurting her—something he seemed to be doing a lot of lately, even though he never wanted or intended to.

For his part, he didn't sleep much these days. When he did, he dreamed about comm links going dead and the ghost of a woman who was still alive holding him to account for not challenging that goddamn order. Hannah might still be alive, but that didn't change the fact that she had died. He'd still had to grieve her, to come to try to come to terms with raising Alli on his own. Her return—her resurrection—didn't change any of that.

And for so many people, they only got to live the first part of that story. He was probably the only person in the galaxy to get his partner back after she'd been snatched away. How many souls out there didn't get that? How many raids against human colonies or human ships meant someone's bed—someone's life—would be a little colder? How many new orphans were there every day? How close had Alli gotten to not having a mom anymore?

He looked at Han, watching her while she slept. Her eyes were still at the moment, and she snored softly—though she'd never admit it or believe him. He passed a palm lightly over her shoulder and up to her jawline, brushing stray hairs back behind her ear. Her eyelids fluttered but remained closed.

He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Gently, he lifted her arm from around his waist and moved to the edge of the bed. As quickly and quietly as he could manage, he found his clothes and dressed. It was an inexpensive hotel, but at least it still had a bar. Maybe that would help him get to sleep without dreaming.

Before he could make it to the door, he heard Han stir. "Michael?" she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just getting a drink of water. Go back to sleep."

When the darkness was once again filled with her soft, even breaths, he slipped through the door and into the hallway.

It was midway through the night cycle, so there weren't a lot of patrons at the hotel bar. The batarian bartender leaned idly to one side as he dried glasses.

"What can I get you?" he asked absently but didn't make a move to do more than he already was.

"What have you got?" Michael countered, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"We have Thessian beer—"

"Nothing asari," Michael insisted.

"We have several salarian—"

"Really?"

The bartender was starting to get annoyed. "Batarian shard wine?"

Michael scowled. This asshole was being difficult on purpose now, and his patience had run out. "It's midnight. Do you really think I'm here for wine?"

"Hey, I know you," a voice behind Michael said.

To his surprise, it was another human. She was in civvies, but he could still tell that she was Alliance from the swagger in her step as she approached him. She had tanned skin and short blonde hair, a regulation bob. She had earthy brown eyes trained on him, absolutely sure of her conviction.

He turned back toward the bartender, already guessing how she was likely to know him. "Well, I don't know you. If you don't mind, I'd rather drink alone."

"Yeah," she said. "You're Shepard, aren't you? Major Michael Shepard."

The batarian straightened and narrowed his eyes—all four of them—at Michael. "Bar's closed," he said, then stalked into the back room.

Michael sighed, and the other person snorted. "Fuck him. Come on," she said, pulling on his arm. "This place doesn't serve anything human, but I know a place that does."

"No thanks," he said pulling his arm back sharply. Couldn't a guy get drunk in peace? "I'm not looking for a date."

She rocked back on one heel and crossed her arms. "We should get along fine, then," she said, a breath away from patronizing. "I'm not looking for a date either. But I am looking for a drink, and it looks like you closed the bar."

Michael scrubbed a palm over the short stubble that had grown since that morning's shave. He was so tired. He just needed a way to keep from dreaming so that he could sleep. "Fine," he said at last. "But I'll buy my own drinks."

The blonde nodded and smirked at him. "Glad to hear it, sir," she said. "Lieutenant Bethany Greenwood, Alliance Marine Corps."

She saluted him, which he returned half-heartedly as he stepped away from the bar. "So what's this place you've heard about?"

They started walking toward the lobby and the exit. "Not heard of, sir, been to. It's one of the first human-run bars here, so they've got the good stuff. Bars aren't usually to my thing, to be honest. Too many people, too noisy. I'd steer clear altogether if it didn't belong to my own brother—no fighting, by the way. Don't shit where you sleep, right?" She paused a moment before realizing what she'd said. "Er, sorry, sir. I guess my mouth is on leave too."

Under normal circumstances, he'd have turned and left. If he wasn't so exhausted, he would've left about ten different times by now. But, maybe if he got some sleep, he'd be better to be around for the rest of their leave. He did want Han and Alli to have a good time. One drink. That was it.

The bar really was just around the corner, and it was surprisingly rowdy for the hour. Greenwood leaned over and shouted above the din, "Sorry about the noise. It's the only human-owned joint in this arm of the station, so everyone comes here. Joey's apartment is just upstairs, and I only lasted one night before I checked in to that shitty hotel. He's got good booze, though."

The place was dimly lit and small with maybe a dozen stools at the bar on one side, and four booths on the other side. Three pub tables stood right down the middle, and patrons were packed around every available surface that could hold a drink. Loud, drumming music beat above the clamor of voices, and Greenwood tapped him on the shoulder to get him to follow her.

She wound through the mostly human patrons—though a few asari were there too—until they got to the back. She pushed through the kitchen doors, and Michael took a tentative step toward her. She looked over her shoulder at him and grinned.

"Come on," she said, tilting her head. "It's quieter back here. You can hear yourself think."

Michael's stomach tightened, but he followed her anyway. She led him through one more door, into what appeared to be a card room. Greenwood approached a man standing with his back to them and put an arm around his middle. He seemed surprised at first, then put his arm around her shoulders when he recognized her. She said something Michael couldn't hear, and the man turned to look at him with a wide smile. There was no mistaking the family resemblance.

"Joey, I want you to meet Major Shepard," Greenwood said.

Joey took a step toward him, extending a hand to shake Michael's. "It's a pleasure, sir," he said. "Please take a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Alliance officers get the first two rounds on the house."

The man winked at him, and Michael said tentatively, "I'll take sour mash if you've got it."

Joey waved a hand dismissively. "For a friend of Bets? I've got something better. Please, please! Sit! I'll be right back."

Michael hesitated for a moment before sliding into a booth across from Greenwood. "He's a little excitable, isn't he."

She snorted and turned in her seat until her back was against the wall and her legs were stretched across the bench and crossed at the ankles. "That's a word for it. I haven't met anyone as willing as he is to see everyone as good. The two rounds is a lie, by the way. He'll ply you blind, if you let him, and he'll call it hospitality. I give it another six months before this place goes under due to hospitality."

Joey returned with two tumblers and a bottle with its label turned away. He set the glasses down and turned the bottle to present his prized liquor.

"Glenlivet, my good man," Joey said, beaming. "Mine is the only place on the Citadel that has it. I've got a guy, though, so drink as much as you want." Even Greenwood started at that and leaned forward to protest, but he put up a hand. "I insist. Now, I have a few games to see to. Sit back. Relax. Enjoy yourselves. Let me know if you need another bottle."

He winked again at them and turned back to the gambling going on around them.

Greenwood shook her head. "I swear," she said, half grinning. "If he wasn't my brother I'd say he was a fool. Hell, who am I kidding, he is a fool. But he's generous." Her grin turned to a frown as she took the bottle and poured their drinks. "He's gonna learn the hard way one of these days that not everyone will respect him for his generosity. Most people, especially if they don't know him, will see it as an opportunity to take advantage."

Michael took his glass and raised it. "Here's hoping that day is far from now," he said and took a drink.

Greenwood nodded and drank as well. "He's a good kid," she said at length. "Smart too, even if he is a little dopey. He just has a lot to learn about how other people think. He'll bend over backward to make sure everyone around him is happy and healthy. He doesn't get it that people will break you if you do that." She paused and took another drink. "At least it's just humans doing that right now. The day he gets worked over by an asari or a turian? That'll be the day he sees a different side of his big sis."

"How is it any different if it's aliens working him over instead of humans?" Michael asked, taking another sip.

She grinned. "It's not really, is it? It just _feels_ different, I guess. Like when we were kids. We'd fight like cats and dogs, but if anyone picked on him, I'd punch them till my fists were raw. It's like someone sticking their nose in your business, right?" She snorted and pushed her hair behind her ear as she watched her brother work. "These aliens are up our asses about the galactic community and whatnot. But what place do they have to say anything about humanity and what we do? Why do they think they can tell us what to do or how to behave? To get us to fit in?" She shook her head and took a drink. "Please. Humanity would be cutting itself off at the knees to try to fit in with all these assholes. They don't even like us! Why are we trying to get their approval?"

She may have been blunt and even a little crass, but Michael couldn't say she was wrong. Similar thoughts had gone through his mind on more than one occasion.

Greenwood turned somber and tilted her glass to swirl its contents. "I love my brother, Major. I wouldn't change him for the world. He gives me something to hope for, even if I think he's an idiot. I joined the Alliance partly because I wanted to make sure he could stay the way he is. I'll gladly take on the ugliness of the world so that he can go on calling it beautiful."

She drained her glass and poured another couple of fingers. "The Alliance sure hasn't made our job easy in that respect has it, sir," she said, winking at him as she sipped her refreshed drink."

Her gaze turned focused and hard as she looked at him. "Like with you. Batarians attack a human colony, kill most of the adults, make off with half the kids to sell into slavery, and you show up in time to save the other half. And you're the one in trouble because you took them down?" She shook her head. "With all due respect, makes no sense, sir, and I was mad as hell reading about it. You saved those kids! Who cares if a few batarians were trying to surrender?" Her voice turned low, as if she was talking more to herself, "Fuck 'em. They don't get to save their skins." She focused on Michael again and leaned forward. "And even if you'd let them go? Good money says they'd be doing the same thing in a week. They don't care. No one cares. If you don't mind me sharing my opinion, sir"—not that she paused to let him stop her—"no one's going to look out for us except us, and if that means we have to color outside the lines a little, then so fucking be it. Those lines are shitty if they don't even let us protect the people who can't protect themselves. With all due respect, sir."

Michael took another swig, finishing his drink. He considered his empty glass for a moment, wondering if the buzz he was starting to feel would be enough to help him sleep and shook his head once. He poured another couple of fingers and leaned back in his seat. Why he was about to engage this woman, he really had no idea. He even agreed, unfortunately, with everything she'd said. Still. "But that's how some things have to be," he said evenly. "I did the wrong thing, and it's made other people's lives difficult. Admiral Drescher's. My wife's. We might not like it, but that's just how the galaxy works."

He hated the words even as they formed in his mouth, but he felt like being contrary. Greenwood was forward, and it put him off. She was also right, of course, and that was the most irritating part.

Greenwood huffed, but she'd lost her patronizing edge. Instead, she'd seemed more frustrated. "That's just the way the galaxy works? That's the sort of thing someone says when they don't want the way the galaxy works to change."

Michael shrugged. "That may be true. But who's going to change it?"

She gave him a sidelong glance, seeming to consider him before shaking her head once. "You know, I kinda thought I could. Come out here. Make a difference. Save some people who need saving. I thought that's what the Alliance wanted too. But when it comes time for me to do what they hired me for, they always get in my way. I wonder how many people have died because the Alliance wasn't paying attention or just didn't want to look bad to the new cool kids in the galaxy."

Michael took a long sip of his drink. He'd been pushing aside a similar question in his own mind, and Greenwood saying it outright settled uncomfortably in his gut. "Right."

As their conversation lulled, Michael heard someone speak up behind him.

"Pardon me," a gravelly voice said beside them. "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. I think I might have something that can help."

The man who spoke stepped into view. He was roguishly handsome with bright blue eyes and a cigarette lodged between his fingers. His clothes were expensive, but he walked with a swagger almost like Greenwood's—like someone who's been in their fair share of fights.

At the sight of him, Greenwood swung her legs around and slid out of the booth. "I'm going to grab some water, sir," she said to Michael. "This stuff's gone straight to my head."

Before Michael could say anything, she had disappeared between the swinging doors to the kitchen. The newcomer smiled warmly and took the seat she'd vacated. He held out a hand, and Michael took it hesitantly—they were rough and calloused from work, despite his carefully tailored exterior.

Michael paused before asking, "And what do you have that could help."

"Perspective, Major. And maybe some resources that can help the Alliance help itself, if you're inclined to use them. It's good to finally meet you," he said and picked up the bottle of Glenlivet. Joey came quickly and quietly and replaced it with another bottle with a black label on it. "I hope you don't mind, but I prefer bourbon, and I have a few things I'd like to discuss with you."

A couple of hours and much bourbon later, Michael crawled back into bed and fell directly asleep. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so well.


	5. Einstein (2164)

_Einstein: (biographical name) Albert 1879–1955 Am. (Ger.-born) physicist; (epithet) one who displays uncommon intelligence_

#

The list of what could have caused Ms. Lau to call a parent-teacher conference ran long in Alli's head. Most of what she thought of wasn't likely to be it. Teachers didn't call your parents into a meeting because you were caught browsing the extranet during study hall or because you skipped lunch on occasion to go to the recess room to watch the ships fly by, huge and silent. This had to be something else, and Alli bounced her leg nervously as she tried to focus on her homework at her desk. Mom and Dad would be home soon enough, but the suspense was killing her.

 _What did I do now?_ she couldn't help wondering over and over.

She hadn't hit anyone since Gerald—she hardly even talked to anyone unless they were doing a group project. She hadn't missed any assignments. She hadn't failed any of her tests. The opposite, actually. She spent most of her time reading her books and looking for vids to fill in the cracks of what they weren't learning in class, so by the time any tests came around, she could finish it with her eyes closed. So the question remained: _What did I do?_

Even from her room, Alli could hear the hiss of the front door as it opened. She went still, listening for the sounds of agitation from her parents—quick heavy steps from Dad, clipped light ones from Mom, voices kept low and short—but they didn't come. Instead, she heard Dad turn down the hallway toward her room, his steps light and even. She sat up straight in her chair and pretended to be studying at her terminal.

He knocked on the frame of her open door and leaned into her room. "Dinner's ready, kiddo. We picked up some takeout from the market."

He didn't sound upset. He sounded . . . normal, actually.

"Okay, Dad. I'll be right there," she said, closing everything she hadn't been able to concentrate on for the last hour.

When she reached the kitchen, Mom was busy dividing up the contents of several cartons onto three different plates. Her shoulders were down and relaxed, and she didn't seem to be frowning. It was almost as if they hadn't been talking to her teacher about her for almost an hour now. Was this a guessing game? Were they trying to get her to admit to something by not talking to her about the meeting? Was there some kind of bait she was supposed to take?

Alli clenched her jaw and sat heavily into her chair. If they weren't going to bring it up, then neither was she. No way was she going to admit to hacking the school's clock so that they were released from classes a minute earlier every day; the school would find the hack eventually anyway and call it a bug. And she definitely wasn't going to tell them about accidentally using her biotics to knock over Gerald's fruit drink after he pushed a younger kid out of their seat during lunch; they'd only freak about her being careless and warn her against all the things biotics have to do for the billionth time.

 _I mean, Ms. Sana has taught me so much about how not to flare my corona_ , she thought. _They're not going to say anything I don't already know_.

Mom set down a plate in front of Alli, took a seat opposite from Dad, and picked up her fork to start eating. Well, Alli could play this game too. She could wait them out until they were the ones who broke and started asking questions.

Alli took a great big bite of the noodles in front of her, almost daring either Mom or Dad to ask her anything while she had a mouth full of food. Dad just chuckled.

"Hungry, kiddo?" he said and winked at her.

She resisted the urge to glare and nodded instead of answering around the food she was chewing.

Mom set down her fork and leaned in her chair to fish something out of her pocket. She placed it on the table for everyone to see.

It was an information disk.

 _Oh no._

There was still too much food in her mouth for her to say anything before Mom pressed a button and a bright blue holo jumped up. The words "Stay Out" wiggled in the air, and just below them were two stick figures: one with long hair and a mad face, and one with its stick arms over its face with little dotted lines dripping from it. That fight with Gerald had been pretty useful in warning people away from bothering her.

"Your teacher says they haven't gotten to the programming section of your curriculum yet," Dad said. He was looking—of all things—curiously at the display. He reached over to run his hand through it, and a small electrical spark jumped at his fingers. He hardly jumped at all, but then he was a lot tougher than any of her classmates who might've tried to break into her locker and mess with her stuff. Again.

"Moving holographic images. Motion detection. Self-sustaining barrier," Mom listed off the features of the program. "That's impressive work, Alli. Where did you learn it?"

Well, this wasn't what she expected. She swallowed the rest of her food loudly and shrugged one shoulder. "I dunno. I read it somewhere, I guess."

"Ms. Lau thinks you would benefit from moving into the eighth-grade programming class during your study hall," Dad said. "She says you're usually just browsing the extranet during that time anyway. This would be less boring. What would you think about that?"

The image of Gerald (or one of his cronies) finding her new homework came to mind and she crossed her arms. _I'd have to up the security on my locker_ , she thought but didn't say. On the other hand, the thought of getting to read what the eighth graders were reading did sound exciting. She'd overheard the other kids at lunch talking about how the eighth graders got to build their own drones. "I guess that could be okay," she said, shrugging again.

"Ms. Lau said you could start as soon as Monday," Mom said, taking another bite of her noodles.

Dad picked it up from there and scrunched up his eyebrows until they looked like a hair worm. "But." Of course. There's always a _but_. "This kind of thing can get you in trouble, Alli."

Alli felt her face go cold as all the blood drained from it. "What do you mean? I was just reading because I was bored, and I just practiced making that program. How can I get in trouble for that?"

Dad shook his head. "Not for that, kiddo. For this." He passed his hand through the barrier again, taking another shock, and the stick figures went all staticky from the disturbance. "You're just a kid, so we know you don't mean it. But making threats like this isn't okay, Allistair."

She let her fork clatter to the plate and crossed her arms. "So, am I just supposed to let the other kids take my stuff again?"

Mom and Dad looked at each other then back at Alli. "Have the other kids broken into your locker before?"

Alli let her head loll back on the chair and looked away from her parents. "Just Gerald but he thinks I don't know it's him. I mean, he gets one of his friends to do it, or one of the little kids. I think he wants me to punch one of them too so that he can get me in trouble."

Dad rested his elbows on the table and crossed his fingers together. "Do you have any proof of that?"

Alli sat up again, feeling angry and frustrated and not even a little bit hungry any more. "No, okay? I just know it's him because he's never forgiven me for punching him in front of everybody. I don't care. I don't care if the other kids think I'm weird or mean or whatever. I just want them to leave my stuff alone."

Mom and Dad looked at each other again but didn't say anything this time. Alli pushed her food around on her plate, waiting for one of them to tell her she shouldn't aggravate Gerald or that she should try to talk to him about it. She didn't do anything to him, and she didn't see any reason she should be the one to have to talk to him. _He_ was the one breaking into _her_ locker!

It was Dad who spoke first. "The point is, if you leave threatening messages like this, people are going to come looking for you when something unfortunate does happen. You can keep people away from your locker, but don't tell them you're going to hurt them if they do. Then it becomes premeditation."

"Michael!" Mom said, sighing and rolling her eyes at him.

Dad leaned back in his chair. "It's true. The issue is threatening assault. As long as she doesn't do that, she can protect herself and her property, right?"

Mom frowned. "Or we can get the boy's parents involved. That should put a stop to him harassing Alli pretty quickly."

Dad cracked his knuckles and tensed his jaw. "I could wring his neck, and that would put a stop to it faster." Dad shook his head. "No, tell his parents and he'll just take it out on Alli. She's obviously not afraid to stand up for herself. Let her do it."

Mom was scowling now, but she didn't argue with Dad about it anymore. Instead, she turned back to Alli and said, "Just promise me you won't make any more threats of violence, and you can start your programming class with the eighth graders on Monday."

Alli thought about what Dad had said. If all she had to do was technically obey the rules, she could definitely do that. She could avoid getting caught, no problem. That way, if Gerald ended up with a black eye but no one was around to see it, there'd be nothing to point back to her. Maybe if she fixed up another OSD to record everything he said at his locker, she could even prove that he had it out for her. Then any accusation he made would look like he made it up to get her in trouble.

Alli grinned and put out her hand. When Mom took it tentatively, Alli's grin grew and she said, "Deal. No more threats, I promise."

Dad half-smiled at her, and she thought maybe he caught on to what she didn't say too. But Mom had said "Don't threaten Gerald," not "Don't punch Gerald." She could live with those terms.

#

What started as soft kisses across the back of her shoulder and neck pulling her gently out of sleep had very quickly turned into more. Hannah's hands fisted the bedsheets tightly, and she kept her lips pressed firmly together, arching her back and swallowing one cry after another to keep quiet. The vibrations from Michael's low chuckles as he worked only made it worse—or perhaps better—and she stayed locked in that tableau for a long moment before her muscles finally unwound and she fell back into the bed. More kisses brushed across her stomach and up her chest and neck before he reached her lips again.

"Good morning," he whispered, smiling against her mouth.

"Yeah," she said, still breathing hard but also smiling. "Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?"

He pressed his brow to hers and closed his eyes. "No reason."

She smiled and breathed deep the scent of him. The dark cloud that had been his constant companion for so long seemed finally to be gone for good. He smiled more freely, played more often, and talked a little easier—without snapping or making sarcastic remarks. He was more like the Michael she'd known before Shanxi. Maybe Drescher had been right, and all he needed was a break. She might not have believed it a year ago, but . . . he was so changed, she didn't know how else to think of it.

He must've hit rock bottom on the Citadel when she'd woken to find him reeking of alcohol and cigarettes—hours after going to get a drink of _water_. When she'd confronted him over his behavior—and his distance, his iciness, his bite—it hadn't been a stern talking-to. It had been an ultimatum. She'd prepared for pushback or escalation . . . or worse. Instead, he'd smiled. He'd apologized. He'd promised to be better. He'd asked for her _forgiveness_.

That wasn't quite what she'd been expecting, and at first, she thought he was mocking her. She gave him the benefit of taking his words at face value this last time and watched him closely over the ensuing weeks and months.

Maybe he'd worked something out of his system. Maybe he'd found an answer to a question. Whatever it was, she felt like she finally had him back. She could even see the difference in Alli. It wasn't lost on her how the tension between she and Michael affected their daughter. And since Michael's change, Alli had been more at ease too. Her test scores in school had even gone up.

She kissed him again and closed her eyes. "Well, it's a good start to a day that's going to be filled with politicians and reporters."

He chuckled. "Oh yes. You get all of Parliament to yourself today. Half of them will say _Einstein_ is a great feat and a show of the Alliance's strength and if you don't agree you're not a patriot. The other half will call it an overdesigned waste of billions of credits. And you get to deal with all of them. I'll give you three guesses as to how jealous I am, but you're only going to need one."

Hannah laughed and kissed his neck. It was true that she wasn't looking forward to the noncommittal, impersonal pleasantries ahead of her, but he'd put her in a decidedly better mood. With any luck, the unveiling would go off without a hitch, and Einstein would be ready for its maiden voyage in less than a week. It was a project seven years in the making, and Hannah would be glad to have a new berth to take her back into the void. Even if Alli spent most of her time with the long-term child care the Alliance provided, Hannah felt like her daughter would still be in good hands. She was getting rusty sitting behind a desk. It would definitely be a change for Alli and what she would be able to expect coming home from school.

He nuzzled just below her ear and pressed a kiss behind her jaw. "You should probably start getting ready. You don't want to miss your date with the press."

She smiled and turned toward him. She kissed him again and said, "Yeah, I know. Thanks for that."

As much as she wanted to reciprocate—despite his definite "this is for you" vibe—she did have to prepare for everything that lay ahead of her for the day. She kissed him one last time, then wiggled out from under him to the edge of the bed and toward their bathroom. She showered and groomed and dressed as quickly as possible, adding even a touch more makeup than normal to bring out her eyes. _Einstein_ 's unveiling ceremony would begin in six hours, and she had so much to do in that time.

When she emerged from the bathroom, their bed was empty and made up, and the smell of eggs— _real_ eggs—wafted from the hallway. _Clever bastard_ , she thought and grinned to herself. _Always getting his hands on the impossible_.

Sure enough, when she reached the kitchen, she found Alli swinging her skinny legs and digging into an omelet that'd be almost too much for an adult, let alone a ten-year-old, and Michael was just turning over another one that was a little smaller. Hannah closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "I'd say there's cheese in there somewhere," she said, "but I know Major Shepard is not in the habit of going through back channels to bring aboard such a scarcity."

Michael shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "That's pride in the Systems Alliance you smell right now."

Hannah laughed and took a seat at the table as he slid the omelet onto a plate and set it down in front of her. A softly blinking light near his hand drew her eye to an unfamiliar black stripe down the inside of Michael's wrist. _When did he get a new 'tool?_ He seemed to be ignoring it, though, and kissed her hair. "Eat. Before it gets cold."

Before she could decide whether to take a bite or ask him about the 'tool, her own wrist began buzzing and she brought up the emergency notification.

 _/KD: Attack on volus ambassador. Human suspect._

Hannah felt the blood drain from her face as she brought up the extranet to search the major news sites. Sure enough, someone named Ivor Johnstagg was at large after an attempt on the life of Ambassador Venta Tox.

 _Fuck._

Hannah lost her appetite, and Michael was quick to notice. "What is it?" he asked when she pushed away her plate.

"I should go," Hannah said, standing up and looking for her shoes. "There's a PR nightmare breaking, and I need to talk to Drescher about messaging before the ceremony starts. No one's going to be asking about _Einstein_ today, I can guarantee that much."

He nodded and squeezed her arm in understanding. "Go. Do your work."

She kissed Alli atop her head and darted out the door. Drescher was already messaging her to get her ETA, and Hannah was ordering up the fast-track to bypass the normal traffic to her office. It was still too early for her yeoman to be there, so she started pinging him. She opened another window to message Dess about where C-Sec was in apprehending Johnstagg when her answer popped up.

 _/OR: Officers just brought him into custody. Tox is alive. Guard is dead._

Hannah let out a relieved breath. None of this was good, but it could've been much worse.

 _/HS: Motive?_

 _/OR: Discovery pending interrogation._

The car came to a stop, and the doors slid open to reveal Drescher already standing on the other side. They exchanged a quick salute and hurried on to Hannah's office.

"They've got him," Hannah said. "C-Sec is booking him as we speak."

Drescher nodded but didn't say anything more until the door to Hannah's office slid closed behind them. The admiral brought up her 'tool and queued a video. "Here's the security footage," she said and let it play.

A man—Caucasian, perhaps late thirties, medium build—walks into the ambassador's chamber alongside an elcor. He pulls out a concealed side arm and begins firing. The first two shots go wide, but the third shot would've connected with the ambassador if a turian body guard hadn't stepped in front of him. He fires three more times, all the while shouting something that's drowned out by the sounds of the gun, then throws down the weapon and runs out the door.

"What was he saying?" Hannah asked when the recording finished.

"Something about Earth eternal, or more likely Eternal Earth. They're still trying to clean up the audio, and it's too soon to have any testimonies yet. Are you familiar with Eternal Earth, Commander?"

Hannah nodded. "They've been making noise with Parliament for some time now. They've been trying to stall the process for getting an embassy on the Citadel, claiming they'll sue the Alliance government. Treason, misconduct, not representing the will of the people, blah, blah, blah. But they've just been all talk. Do you think this was really them?"

Drescher shrugged one shoulder. "I'm making no assumptions, Commander. Johnstagg was a sergeant at Shanxi. It took a couple of years, but he was discharged. Cat 6. He could be working with Eternal Earth, but he could also just be a lone gunman."

Hannah let out a long breath. Michael had come so close to Cat 6 himself. This whole situation was striking a little close to home, but she needed to remain impartial. "So what's the message, ma'am?"

Drescher began to pace, "It's not just the message, Commander. It's the company."

"Ma'am?"

The admiral met Hannah's gaze with a rueful look. "It would be best if you suddenly fell ill, Shepard. The last thing the Alliance needs right now is a reminder of indiscretions made by other humans against a member race of the Citadel."

Hannah took in a sharp breath but said nothing. _Einstein_ was hers. She'd overseen everything, from its design to the goddamn bolts holding it together.

Drescher looked away again. "Believe me, Shepard, I know it's not fair. _Einstein_ is an incredible ship, in no small part due to your oversight, and you're still chief of her air groups. But," she paused and took in a deep breath. "We're very close to opening our embassy, Shepard. Listing our currency on the Citadel Exchange and Stock Market is the last requirement we need to meet, and we nearly have the votes for it in Parliament. Thanks to Johnstagg, those votes might be moot very soon. This assassination attempt might well bar the Alliance from opening an embassy altogether, and I have a lot of work ahead of me if I'm going to salvage the years of work currently in jeopardy." She shook her head but kept her look away from Hannah. "I don't like sidelining you right now. I hate it, in fact. But I can't have the name Shepard on anyone's mind. Not today, certainly, and not for a while."

A river of molten fury coursed through Hannah's veins, through every nerve ending. But there was nowhere for that energy to go. She couldn't be mad at Drescher—her hands were tied. She couldn't be angry with Michael because there was no way for him to know his friction with the batarians would come back to bite her like this. She couldn't even lash out at Johnstagg, what with the inconvenient light-years separating them.

Her face was hot with rage, and she was sure Drescher could see it. The admiral's expression softened, and she took a cautious step toward Hannah. She put a hand on her shoulder and said, "I know what this means to you, Hannah. I'm truly sorry. The Alliance—I need your help."

Hannah managed to nod and say (even with her voice tripping over itself), "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

The admiral gripped her shoulder again before stepping back and turning toward the door. Drescher grinned weakly as she stepped through the door. "I owe you one, Shepard."

When Drescher was gone and the door closed again, Hannah fell into the chair at her desk. Her 'tool started blinking and chirruping at her. Messages started flooding in: Dess saying Johnstagg had been officially designated a terrorist, Michael looking for an update, reporters from the ANN and Westerlund News and several other outlets emailing her for a statement.

She turned off her 'tool and put her head on her desk.

Seven years. Seven years of work culminating in the most advanced carrier in the Alliance Navy. She knew that ship like she knew Allistair, and someone else was going to be the face associated with it. At least she wasn't being officially written out of the story like she had been with Shanxi, but this was hardly better. Nausea swept over her, and she put a hand to her mouth, waiting for the feeling to pass.

A tapping on her door told her her yeoman had arrived, and she heaved a heavy sigh before standing up again. She opened her door and stepped away. Before he could say anything, Hannah said (her voice breaking only slightly, which she was proud of), "We're not going to the ceremony today. I'm not feeling well enough. You're dismissed for the day. Please don't answer any messages you get from the press today."

Her yeoman's brow creased, and he stood a little straighter. "Are you sure, ma'am? You've been looking forward to the ceremony for weeks."

The concern in his voice made her want to hug him, but she kept her composure and gave half a grin. If the situation were less embarrassing, she might've chosen to take him up on his offer. As it was, she chose to respond, "I know. But I don't want to get anyone else sick. Arcturus is a closed environment after all. Best to quarantine myself now."

He didn't look like he believed her, but he nodded and let her go without any further questions.

She took the fast-track back home, not really wanting to run into anyone else that might try to stop her and ask questions. When she got home, she toed off her shoes and hugged Alli when she came up put her arms around her tightly.

"Mom, you're back!" she said. "I thought you were going to be gone all day again."

Hannah carded a hand through her hair and managed to smile. Michael emerged from the kitchen with a dish towel between his hands. His face was grave, and Hannah had an idea he already knew the gist of what was happening.

"Yeah, I'm home, starshine. I'm going to take a nap, and then we can watch a vid. Your choice."

Alli scrunched up her nose, clearly confused. "What about the ceremony? I got a new dress for it and everything."

Hannah glanced up at Michael as he turned back into the kitchen. "Well, the admiral said I'd done such a good job putting everything together that I could take the day off. So instead of being bored to tears and talking to reporters all day, I get to spend time with you."

Alli's face fell a little. "I was kind of looking forward to the food, but I guess this is good too."

Hannah laughed and had to work to keep the laugh from turning into a sob. "Sorry to disappoint," she said, though still smiling. "Now, I'm tired, so I'm just going to go take a quick nap."

She disentangled herself from her daughter's lanky arms and headed down the hallway to her room. She removed her blazer and hung it up, then took the pins out of her twist and let her hair fall down her back. She slid onto the cool comforter and sank into her pillow. No sobs came, but the tears ran hot and angry over her cheeks and across her nose.

The door to her room hissed open, and the bed shifted as Michael crawled on the mattress next to her. He molded his body to hers and put a strong arm around her. She noticed that his 'tool had stopped blinking and that it was back to being the model she knew he had. Maybe she'd just mistaken before, distracted by thoughts about how she thought her day was going to go—much good all that was. He didn't say anything as he rested his forehead to the back of her head, and Hannah was thankful for that.

She didn't want to hear an apology, even one meant for the situation and not for what he'd done, and she was afraid if he offered one, she might unleash into an angry tirade against him. The unreasonable side of her wanted to do that anyway.

But he stayed there, pressed against her back and stroking his thumb over her wrist, never speaking. As more tears fell, some of the anger went out of her, leaving her instead in a well of resignation. His arm around her became less of a cage and more of a lifeline.

When the resignation began to overpower her, she twined her fingers in his, holding on tight to keep from being swept away, and leaned into him. He returned her grasp and held her closer. She breathed deep and closed her eyes, suddenly grateful the old Michael had chosen now to come back to her.

It wasn't perfect, but nothing ever was.


	6. Friend (2165)

_friend: (noun) a person whom you like and enjoy being with; a person who helps or supports someone or something (such as a cause or charity)_

#

Mom and Dad had promised that moving to the Citadel wouldn't be so bad. They said she'd find new friends there and that she'd have a much bigger room because their new home would be off-base. She knew there was nothing she could say that would change Mom's assignment, so she didn't tell them that she didn't really have any old friends on Arcturus (though she did manage to hack Gerald's student records and leave him failing all his classes as a goodbye gift), and all her classmates had been human there; with the way Dad talked about aliens not liking humans, she doubted she'd make any friends on the Citadel either. Also, she'd liked her small room the way it was.

She was trying hard not to make a fuss and to follow orders, just like Mom and Dad did, but she didn't like how everything was changing so much. She'd liked visiting the Citadel, but it wasn't home.

Alli lay in bed holding the covers tightly around her. It was her bed, her blankets, her things all around her. But it wasn't her room. It was too big, too open. Mom said she'd get used to it, but she didn't see how she could. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to remind herself that it wasn't all bad. At least she had a bed. Mom and Dad were sleeping on the floor of their room because most of the furniture from their apartment on Arcturus had belonged to the Alliance and they still needed to buy replacements here. And Dad was leaving on a new assignment later today, so Mom was going to have to do most of that on her own.

All Alli had to worry about was starting at her new school and having no one to talk to.

 _Stop complaining_ , she told herself. _Grow up, Alli. Mom said being stationed on the Citadel was a good thing for the Alliance. It's going to show the rest of the galaxy that humanity can defend our embassy and everyone else's too. This is bigger than you, Alli. Get. Over. It._

She threw off her covers and went over to the box that had all her clothes and pushed away her self-consciousness that they weren't anything like what asari or turians of salarians wore; one look at the extranet was enough for her to realize she was going to stick out like a sore thumb. _Of course you won't look like them, she thought. They're all aliens. You'll probably be the only human. At least on Arcturus no one could actually see that you weren't like them. Maybe Mom will buy me some new dresses like asari wear. Maybe then I won't be so different_.

She shut her eyes tight and tried to block all those thoughts. They weren't helping. At all. Instead, she tried to think of something good while she got ready for school. _Ms. Sana can give me more biotic lessons now_ , she thought. _That's good. Maybe Ms. Dess can show me how to make my 'tool like hers. And maybe I won't be the only human at school for long now that we have an embassy. Maybe there are other humans there already, even. Some of the crew on Einstein probably had kids too, right?_

As soon as she was dressed and ready, she grabbed a brush and a hair tie and headed down the stairs—another thing she'd never seen in someone's home before—to ask Dad to braid her hair for her just like he always did for her first day of school. She almost called out to him, but then she saw him and Mom at the table with their backs to her. He was rubbing Mom's shoulders, and she had her head bent forward. Alli decided to wait a few minutes and slipped quietly back up the stairs.

Mom and Dad had seemed so mad at each other for so long, but Alli could never figure out why. They never yelled or anything, but they always got tense around one other and their words got shorter. For a while she thought maybe it was because of her biotics, like they knew about it before she did and they were mad at each other for making her. Maybe if she weren't a biotic, they wouldn't be so upset all the time. But then after they got home from the Citadel that last time, they didn't seem so mad at each other anymore. They didn't stand so far apart all the time, and they smiled at each other instead of frowning now.

On Arcturus, some of the kids in her class would complain loudly if their parents kissed goodbye in front of everyone, but she'd never understood it. Why would you be embarrassed by parents who love each other? Dad was doing something nice for Mom now, and she didn't want to interrupt it.

So she crept to the top of the stairs and brushed her hair until she heard Mom and Dad talking in normal tones again about their schedules for the day. Then she bounded down the stairs noisily and asked Dad to braid her hair to make sure they knew she was there. Dad of course smiled and started brushing her hair and dividing it into sections to weave together.

"I can't believe my little girl is going to be eleven in just a week," he said, and the pride in his voice made her smile. "Eleven is a lucky number, you know. Is there anything you want for such a prodigious year?"

"For you to be home," she blurted before she could think better of it. When she felt his hands falter, she added quickly, "But I know you can't be, so it's okay. Maybe just bring me something back from wherever you go?"

"If I was going to Earth, I'd bring you back a damn pony, kiddo," he promised. "I wish I could be here too, Alli, but Geneva requested an N team escort last minute. I should be home in a few weeks, though. I'll only be a little late."

Mom came back from the kitchen and set down a bowl of fresh blueberries and cut-up strawberries and a plate stacked with something steaming and sweet-smelling. None of it looked reconstituted at all.

"What's that?" Alli asked, her mouth already watering.

The smile was back in Dad's voice when he answered, "Those are crepes, kiddo." He tied the end of her hair and stepped around her to take one of the sheets of . . . whatever and put it on a plate. "You fill it with fruit and custard then wrap it up like a burrito."

Mom appeared from the kitchen again with another bowl filled with something thick and whitish. _That must be what custard looks like._ Dad spooned the fruit pieces and the custard onto the crepe and then rolled it up. _That must be what a burrito looks like._ He slid the construction in front of her and gave her a fork.

Mom sat at the table and started to make some for herself. "Ms. Sana was generous enough to stock our pantry before we got here so that we wouldn't have to do it ourselves. She says there's a small market for human food in one of the Wards near here, so we'll probably want to check it out pretty soon."

Dad smiled as he wrapped up another crepe for himself. "I can't say I'll miss the mostly dehydrated and freeze-dried stuff on Arcturus. You'd think they'd spend just a little more on their food supplies for morale."

Mom snorted before taking a bite and said, "And then some politician hoping to make a name would pop up and start yelling about overspending."

Alli smiled and stayed mostly quiet while she ate her breakfast. It was much better listening to Mom and Dad talk to each other without bristling. She liked this. And Dad was right about the food being better, too. The custard was smooth and sweet, and the berries were crisp and cool, rather than chewy and bland like they always were. Maybe living on the Citadel wouldn't be so bad after all. Each bite put her in a better mood and helped her worry less about the day ahead.

When breakfast was finished and the dishes cleared, Alli picked up her bag and headed toward the door to go to school. She was proud of herself that her hands were shaking only a little.

Dad called after her to wait for him. "This ain't Arcturus, kiddo. It's not as safe to walk around on your own here. I'll take you to school and get you registered."

Mom rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't make her worry, Michael. It's plenty safe here, Alli. Arcturus had the MP, and the Citadel has C-Sec. Even if it didn't, Sana set us up in a safe part of this Ward. Besides, the school's only half a klick away."

Dad frowned but only a little. "It's still a big place, Han, and she's new to it. She could get lost."

"I don't mind if Dad takes me to school," Alli piped up. Even if Ms. Sana did find a good place for them, she didn't really want to be alone if she didn't have to be.

Mom kissed the top of her hair. "Fair enough. Have a good first day, starshine. Listen to your teachers, and try not to worry too much about the other kids if you can help it. They'll love you, I know it."

Alli hugged her mom tightly around the waist and then took her dad's hand to pull him toward the door. Might as well get this done quickly.

The Citadel really was amazing. Their new place was near the Presidium, so the light around them was clear and white, without all the bright, neon colors of the markets and lower Wards. Skycars zipped overhead, but they were still distant, not so close you could feel the wind from their wake. You could walk along the gangway without even coming close to running into anyone else. Arcturus had been all low ceilings and lower lights, with everyone brushing shoulders and hands on accident. It was so different here, and Alli couldn't help feeling disoriented. Would she really ever get used to this place?

And if this was what it was like outside the school, how would it be once she got there? Would it be anything like Arcturus? Would she be completely out of her depth?

She slowed her step as they approached her new school, and Dad noticed of course. Dad noticed everything.

"What's up, kiddo?" he said, tugging gently at the hand he held.

Alli shrugged and picked at the seam on her school bag with her free hand. She didn't quite know how to say it. At home and with Dad next to her, she at least felt okay. She didn't worry as much about the other kids being smarter than her, thinking she looked weird or wore strange clothes, or pushing her around because she was a human. But she was going to have to enter those halls soon and not too long after that Dad was going to leave her to go to her first class alone, and the thought of that made her hands start to tingle. She tapped her fingers in the rhythm Ms. Sana had shown her to make the feeling go away.

Instead of saying any of that, she said, "Do you think people are going to like me, Daddy? Even though I'm a human?"

He looked down at her, his eyes suddenly sad, and he put one strong arm around her shoulders. "They're idiots if they don't, and you don't have time for idiots. And if any of them says you can't do something because you're human, well, that's all the more reason to show them that you can do it ten times better than they ever could."

She could feel the knot in her stomach start to loosen. "But do what ten times better?"

He smiled and shrugged even with his arms still around her. "Anything and everything, kiddo. You're fucking amazing, and don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

He kissed the top of her head, and she finally started to smile. Dad didn't usually say that word unless he really meant what he said. It was jarring to hear him say it, but it was also comforting to know how much he believed in her. Maybe things wouldn't turn out quite as bad as she feared, but even if they did, she still had Dad to put his arm around her and tell her everything would be okay.

They got to the school, and it didn't look like much from the outside, just a wide door at the bottom of a tall white building with picture windows. Once inside the doors, however, it immediately opened up into three long corridors lined with doors and what looked like access to stairwells from what Alli could see as craned her neck to look around the crush of students flowing around her. They somehow found the administrative office, and Dad registered her in a matter of minutes.

A class list popped up on her 'tool—also new, just like their posting and their apartment and her school, and she was sure Mom and Dad meant it to be like some kind of bribe, but whatever—along with locations, a map, and all the syllabi and textbooks she would need. He kissed her hair and she hugged his waist, and then he was gone and the only thing left to do was find her first class. She took a deep breath, adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and stepped back into the hallway.

The walls were lined with lockers alternating between dark blue and silver. ( _Alliance colors_ , Alli thought. _At least that's familiar_.) Based on the numbers she saw near her, her locker was nearby, but she decided to find it later; she didn't have anything to put in there yet anyway. There were more aliens of every kind than she'd ever seen. Asari, turians, salarians, volus, a couple of elcor, even a few hanar. She didn't see any batarians, though. She wondered if maybe they had a different school they went to, just for them.

Her 'tool glowed above her wrist as she tried to figure out how the hallways and floors looked in her head, and she wasn't prepared for the hand that came to rest on her arm. She jumped away and turned around to see an asari jump away from her, too.

"Sorry!" the asari said. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just thought you looked a little lost and I haven't seen you before so I thought you might be new. Sorry! I won't bother you anymore."

The asari started to walk away, but Alli held up a hand to stop her. "No, no, it's okay," she said and realized her voice was a little too high. She cleared it and said more calmly, "It's my fault, I'm sorry. You're right. I am new." The asari smiled shyly and the corners around her pretty brown eyes crinkled, making Alli's stomach flutter. "I just got to the Citadel yesterday, and I have no idea how anything looks around here. I'm sorry I scared you."

The asari ducked her head. Alli would've guessed they were about the same age if she'd been human, but she knew from Ms. Sana that asari aged differently. Her face was plain and didn't have any of the markings that Ms. Sana had. Alli wondered if those came in later or if they were actually tattoos. Even without the markings, she was very pretty.

"I'm Kardith Oraya," the asari said. "But everyone calls me Kardi."

Alli waved anxiously at herself. "Allistair Shepard. Alli. Do you think you could show me how to get to this room?" She held up her wrist to show the glowing spot on the map."

Kardi squinted briefly before the look of recognition crossed her face. "You're in luck," she said, smiling brightly. "I have Principles of Calculus right now too. Follow me and I'll show you how to get there."

The asari started down the hallway and toward a set of stairs, and Alli followed quickly after her.

Kardi glanced over her shoulder and said, "You're a human, aren't you?"

Alli felt the blush burn her cheeks. "Yeah. My parents are in the Alliance, and we're stationed here for now. My mom's an officer on a carrier, and my dad does special assignments."

Kardi's eyes widened in surprise. "That's impressive! My mom owns a few restaurants on the Citadel. She used to be a chef, but now she mostly just runs everything."

Alli nodded. She didn't have a lot of experience with restaurants, but she knew her dad was a good cook. "What does your dad do?"

Kardi shrugged and shook her head. "I don't know. I never met my dad."

"Oh!" Alli felt her face grow hot and she bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

The asari cocked her head. "Why did your face go all red? Do humans have camouflage or something?"

Alli felt her face get hotter. "N-no. It's . . . I'm just embarrassed."

"Why are you embarrassed? Did I say something wrong?" She brought her hand up to cover her mouth.

Alli shook her head quickly, "No! No nothing like that! It's my fault, sorry. I forgot asari don't always know their dads." She rubbed the back of her neck, realizing she was the only one embarrassed. "It's kind of a rude assumption to make for humans, I guess."

Kardi seemed to relax at that and even smiled again. Alli liked her smile. "Oh, I understand! Humans must be like turians and know who their fathers are all the time then, right? I think mine was a hanar, but Mom doesn't talk about them much. Don't worry, you didn't offend me or anything."

Alli breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn't just made a fool of herself in front of the first person to talk to her besides Mom, Dad, and Ms. Sana since she arrived on the Citadel.

They reached the classroom at last and Kardi showed her to an open desk near her. "You can pair with me if we do group work," she promised as she brought up her terminal.

The teacher walked into the room and started shushing the class before Alli could respond. _Salarian_ , she noted as she brought up her terminal. _Strangely pretty_. And that was the last thought she had before being swept up in the breakneck speed of the teacher's lecture. Alli had to scroll and type more frantically than she'd ever done just to keep pace.

It wasn't until nearly the end of class that she happened to glance around the class and noticed that everyone else seemed relaxed and unflustered while she was sitting there practically run out of breath just from listening to the lesson. The fear that she would be light-years behind her classmates started to creep into her head again, and she had to tap her fingers again to keep her corona under control. Kardi heard the tapping noise and looked over at her with a questioning look.

When class finally ended and she had closed her terminal, Kardi came up to her with a wide grin. "You didn't tell me you were a biotic! I thought humans didn't have them."

Alli felt a small ball of panic form in the pit of her stomach and glanced around to see if anyone had heard her. "How did you know?" she said. "Did I flare?"

Kardi furrowed her brow and cocked her head. "No, you were doing the Calletus maneuver with your fingers. But that's only for quieting an emotional corona. Were you upset?"

Alli rubbed the back of her neck as they left the class and debated whether she should say she thought she was dumber than everyone in the class or brush it off. "It's just," she started. "Dr. Doplus talks so fast. I was barely keeping up with him in my notes, and everyone else in the class looked like this was normal and weren't even breaking a sweat and—"

"Wait, you were keeping up with him?" Kardi's brows raised in surprise. "You were understanding everything he said and also taking notes at the same time?"

"Yes?" Alli said.

Kardi threw back her head and laughed. "Segundus is not going to be happy about this. Until you, he was the only person who could understand anything Doplus says at all. He makes recordings and breaks it down into simpler notes that he sells to the rest of the class. If you did the same, you could probably undercut him and still make a small fortune. What's your next class?"

She brought up her 'tool, doing her best to keep her sigh of relief on the inside, and Kardi pointed her in the right direction even as she started to walk away.

"Wait!" Alli called after her, but the asari was already swept up in the current of students.

Her shoulders slumped as she headed toward her next class, but her disappointment didn't last long. Her 'tool pinged with an incoming message.

 _/KO: forgot to say you can have lunch with me and my friends if you want we have the same period_

Alli let out a relieved breath and sent back an _okay thanks_ that in no way showed how immensely grateful she was not to have to sit alone. She'd eaten lunch on her own nearly every day on Arcturus; she was glad she wouldn't have to do that here too.

Maybe Mom and Dad were right. Maybe living on the Citadel wouldn't be so bad after all. They seemed better here, and Alli might even have a friend.

A gentle chime signaled the start of class, and Alli couldn't help smiling just a little.

 _Yes, this place is okay._

#

Well, they'd gotten their embassy, hadn't they. All it took was no small amount of cowtowing, abundant promises not to attempt assassinating other dignitaries again, and assigning the Alliance's newest and most advanced carrier to the Citadel docks, to be called upon at the pleasure of the Council to defend the Citadel should the need arise. Also Hannah's pride.

Michael seethed at the thought.

They'd closed up their assigned housing that had been their home on Arcturus for the better part of a decade and piled into a transport to the Citadel. Alli didn't talk about it much, but she wasn't happy about it. Her question this morning was confirmation enough of the toll the move had taken on her. She hadn't had many friends on Arcturus, and she hadn't seemed too broken up over leaving anyone in particular behind. If Michael had to guess, it was the change itself that was at the root of her unhappiness. She might eventually get used to this place—all the aliens notwithstanding—but it would never be home like Arcturus was. It certainly wouldn't be for him either.

"You think too much, Shepard," Greenwood said from behind him.

He turned to see her holding her hands like a gun at him. "If I was a sniper, I could've taken you out no problem."

Michael frowned and turned back in his seat. Greenwood was the one thing Michael disliked about Cerberus. She was brash and unpredictable and used his name openly in public even when he was meeting to hand over classified R&D documents.

She plopped down in the seat across from him and took up a menu, all while cracking gum loudly. Michael looked immediately around to see if anyone was looking at them. It was a small, dingy diner with poor lighting and only had a handful of customers, but no one seemed to care about them. He let out a relieved breath. There were benefits to meeting in the lower Wards, where people kept their heads down and tried not to draw attention.

He finally looked back at Greenwood and noticed she looked different from the last time they'd met. "You cut your hair," he said.

She ran her fingers through the inch-long strands and grinned. "You like it? It's symbolic. Cut it all off just like I cut off the Alliance. Finally got out of that goddamn place and saw no reason not to give it a little ceremony. I was getting tired of all the tiptoeing around. Finally doing some real work around the galaxy."

Michael didn't want to know what exactly that "real work" was. The less he knew, the better his plausible deniability. Being N7 gave him a lot of latitude in requesting and handling sensitive information, like schematics for experimental submachine guns and heavier weapons, but even he knew it wasn't strictly legal what he was doing. Even so, he knew it was the right thing to do; if the Alliance was stretched too thin to make use of its own resources, he'd give them to people who would use them better. Since he'd agreed to be an inside man (he wasn't naïve enough to think he was the inside man), he'd heard murmurings of fringe colonies suddenly being able to defend themselves at least until the Alliance got there. He'd heard of batarian ships hauling human slaves being stopped and raided and relieved of their cargo.

If he was being honest, he still didn't think it happened enough, but it was more than the Alliance was doing, and there wasn't so much red tape separating the people needing help from the people willing to help. So if Cerberus needed guns, he'd damn well get them guns and the best he could get his hands on, too. For the first time since Shanxi, he felt like he was doing good work and making a difference, like he'd found his purpose in the galaxy again.

He started to take off his 'tool, but Greenwood stopped him. "That's not the 'tool I gave you."

He nodded. "I lost it in the move. Don't worry, I hadn't put anything new on it yet, and I erased the information from our last transaction. This one's new."

She seemed to relax and looked back to her menu. "Guess it doesn't matter anyway. Change of plans. We got a different assignment for you."

Michael raised an eyebrow and waited for her to continue. When she didn't, he suppressed an exasperated sigh and said, "So you don't want the latest schematics to add to the Hephaestus Project?"

She shook her head and blew a bubble with her gum, letting it crack loudly. "Nope. The last set of sniper rifles we fabricated from the Titan line is currently sitting in a seized-evidence locker on Beckenstein, and the ship they were flying on is impounded. Don't worry, though. The boss recently caught a pretty little investor with deep pockets, and Beckenstein's dirty as a bathroom floor. Our guys'll be out in no time, but we have to get away from new guns for a little while."

Michael huffed and secured his 'tool again. "As much as I'd like to go on raids, I can't do that. R&D specs is one thing, but active missions—"

She waved a hand to silence him, and he took a deep breath to check his irritation. "Nothing like that. We just need you to open a few doors. I know it's not your usual thing, but it shouldn't be too far out of your way."

He crossed his arms and leaned back. "I hope it can wait, then, because I'm shipping out tomorrow."

Greenwood smirked. "On _Geneva_ , I know. Those are the doors we need you to open."

Michael resisted the urge to bolt forward—too much movement would draw attention to their conversation. He kept his voice low. "Since when is raiding an Alliance vessel considered laying low?"

She shrugged. "Who said anything about laying low? I said no new guns. But there are other resources we need if we're going to have any kind of real bite."

 _Geneva_ 's mission was to pick up antimatter and deliver it to an Alliance shipyard, which could only mean one thing. Michael sipped at his coffee spoke around the rim of the mug, "Are we getting in the business of making warships?"

Greenwood shrugged again. "Don't see any reason not to. It's just a matter of time before humanity gets in another large-scale tiff with more aliens." She sounded almost bored stating the prospect. Maybe she was better at not drawing attention than he gave her credit for. "Just look at the batarians. Up and left their embassy just because we got one. Don't tell me they're not itching for a war something awful."

He couldn't say she was wrong. Leaving the Citadel and retreating back to Khar'shan had seemed like a bluff at first, but it looked like the batarians were gone for good. On the one hand, he was happy not to have to breathe the same recycled air as goddamn slavers. Then again, a war probably wasn't such a good idea. Not yet, anyway. Michael wasn't sure if that made their relationship to humans simpler or more complicated.

Greenwood reached into the pocket of her vest and pulled out a small OSD. "All I need from you is for you to upload this virus."

Michael pushed it away. "I can't do that. That's active sabotage. It's too much."

She pushed it back toward him insistently. "It'll self-destruct after a couple of hours, and no one will even know it was there. It'll send the security feeds and the radar into a loop of the same five minutes prior to the introduction of the virus." Michael tried to protest, but she continued, her voice firmer, "That's more than enough time to approach, dock, grab some of the cargo, and get the hell out of Dodge before anyone knows anything."

She leaned back and crossed her arms, a cocky grin crossing her features. "We've already done this a couple times on other Alliance ships, and it's gone off without a hitch. They're scratching their heads when they get to their destinations a little lighter than expected, but it never points back to us."

"It wouldn't, would it," Michael snapped. The possibility of his arrest didn't seem to faze her at all, and he was having trouble keeping his building rage to simple annoyance. "If anyone figured it out, the evidence points to the person who uploaded the virus."

Greenwood frowned, but she didn't take back the OSD. "While that is true, it's not likely to happen." Her expression turned neutral, and a coolness he hadn't heard before entered her voice. "It's definitely not as likely as, say, someone looking into what you've been doing with all that R&D shit."

If they'd been in a less public place, Michael might've dragged Greenwood by the collar out the booth and thrown her against the nearest wall. But they were in a public place, so he simply leaned forward—hiding the curling and uncurling of his fists by leaning his forearm on the table between them—and dropped his voice. "Blackmail tends to be a real relationship dampener."

She didn't lean back, even with Michael menacing in her space. Instead, she kept her expression even and impassive when she said, "So is prison."

He kept his eyes locked with hers for a moment longer before leaning back and grunting in disgust. He wanted to help, but this risk was too great. If he didn't do it, he was definitely going to jail. If he did do it, he was setting himself up as the fall guy while relying on people he didn't know to board an Alliance vessel and steal its cargo without being noticed—so only _probably_ definitely going to jail.

Greenwood set the OSD down and got up from the table. She paused and ran her fingers through her short hair before turning back to him. "Listen, Shepard, I don't like extortion either. But our ships just aren't good enough if things get hairy with the batarians. We need this antimatter so that we can be prepared for when they make a move against the Alliance." She paused to sigh and then looked him steadily in the eye, holding his gaze. "You won't get caught, I promise. Just trust me."

Whether he trusted her seemed immaterial at this point. Still, if what she said was true—that they'd done it before, and successfully—then he could spare at least tentative trust. If nothing else, he believed she believed she could do it.

Michael sighed and pocketed the OSD. He stood and walked past Greenwood without looking at her. "I'll ping you when it's uploaded."


	7. Gravity (2165)

_gravity: (noun) the natural force that tends to cause physical things to move toward each other; a very serious quality or condition_

#

Alli jumped out of the rapid transit and leapt up the steps to Ms. Sana and Ms. Dess's apartment building. The clunk of the container holding left-over birthday cake in her school bag reminded her to walk more slowly. She'd been hoping to save it for Dad, but Mom said it would be stale soon, and Dad still wouldn't be back for a week at least. She didn't know if Ms. Sana had ever had birthday cake before, but Mom said she would still like it.

It had been a quiet birthday, with just the two of them. Mom had asked if she wanted Ms. Dess and Ms. Sana to come over or maybe anyone from school, but she'd said no. Alli liked Ms. Dess and Ms. Sana and even a few of the kids she'd met, like Kardi and Segundus, but . . . well, she just wanted Dad there. He'd never missed her birthday before, and between the move and his last-minute assignment, they hadn't gotten the chance to do something before he left. He wasn't even allowed to send her a message just to wish her a happy birthday. N7s didn't usually get clearance to send unsecured messages when they were deployed.

Alli had stayed up till midnight, just in case he was planning on surprising her. At 1 a.m., Mom finally said Alli had to go to bed.

Mom did her best to make a birthday cake, but it didn't turn out very well. The frosting was too thick and it stuck to the cake and pulled it apart into crumbs. It tasted fine, but it wasn't anything like Dad had ever made for her. Maybe he'd try to make another one when he got back. Maybe then she'd have other people come over too. Maybe then their new place wouldn't be a disaster area anymore.

Stacks of boxes and packages arrived every day as Mom tried to fill in the empty space. Mom was working through it on her own, so it would probably be fine soon enough. But it still wasn't home. It was too open, too big, too . . . much.

Mom and Dad said she'd get used to it after a while, and she believed them. And mostly, she was. When she was focused on her schoolwork or when one of her new friends was being silly at lunch, the newness and strangeness of everything didn't sting so much. But then she'd come home to high ceilings and large, empty rooms, and the feeling of being out of place would come rushing back.

Alli frowned and decided not to think about any of that. She was on her way to a lesson with Ms. Sana, and if she didn't concentrate, she wouldn't be able to levitate even a pencil.

The elevator ride up to Ms. Sana and Ms. Dess's apartment always seemed like it was never going to end. Their building was tall and fancy, and they were at the top of it. When Alli asked if they were rich, Mom had just smiled at her and said that, knowing Ms. Sana, there were likely more than just credits being exchanged. Then Alli asked what that meant, and Mom just said she'd explain when she was older. (Because _that_ wasn't annoying at all.)

Alli took the cake container out of her bag and suddenly felt self-conscious. It was probably all messed up (well, _more_ messed up), and Ms. Sana lived in such a fancy place, she probably wouldn't want it (and Ms. Dess wouldn't even be able to have any of it). Alli quickly shoved it back in her bag. She should just throw it away instead. Dad would make a better one when he got back.

When Alli finally got to their floor, Ms. Sana opened the door wearing a great big smile, just like she always did, and it made Alli feel a little less anxious.

"You are right on time, as usual," Ms. Sana said, ushering her into the apartment. Boy, if Alli thought their new place was big, it was nothing compared to Ms. Sana's apartment. "You have an excellent sense of punctuality, _ma'dulcissi_. That skill is good to acquire early in life."

Alli didn't really know what to say to that. Was being on time a skill? Didn't everyone do that? She could feel herself getting nervous again, and she blurted, "I brought cake."

She wanted to kick herself. So much for throwing it out. Oh well, not much use in hiding it now. She pulled out the container from her bag again and held it up to the asari. "I think I squashed it on the way over, though."

Ms. Sana's eyes brightened when she took the container. "Oh yes! Your mother mentioned something about sending a dessert with you." She chuckled. "I supposed she wanted to make sure it got here before you gobbled it up. She said it was your birthday recently."

Alli nodded. "I'm eleven now."

Ms. Sana shook her head and turned to lead them farther into the apartment. "I sometimes forget how quickly other species have to grow up. When I was your age, I was half your size and hardly aware of the world at all, beyond whenever I was tired or hungry or bored." She turned into the kitchen and put the container in the fridge. "And if you were a salarian, you would be almost done with your education and nearing the end of the physical maturation stage of your life. I imagine most of your salarian classmates were born well after you, and yet here you are, peers."

"One of my teachers is a salarian," Alli offered, not sure if she was understanding the point Ms. Sana was trying to make.

"Yes, I know," Ms. Sana said. Alli wondered briefly how she knew, but before she could investigate further, Ms. Sana put a hand across her shoulder to lead her into the training room. Well, that's how Alli thought of it—it was open and had no furniture in it, but she didn't know if it had been like that before Alli and her parents arrived on the Citadel. "Shall we get started?"

She didn't even need to respond before Ms. Sana started setting up several objects for the day's exercises. Alli set down her bag and kicked off her shoes, already getting lost in thinking about what the training session held for her.

Without turning around, Ms. Sana asked, "Is there a place for your belongings?"

Alli felt herself blush and moved quickly to put her shoes where they were supposed to go and set her bag in a bin in the corner. When she was done, she took her place in the middle of the room and moved into the now-familiar first position.

Silently, Ms. Sana nudged Alli's arms and legs into place. "Let us just start with position technique, for now," she said when she was done. "It will warm up your body's memory."

Alli had gone through these positions hundreds of times—mostly on her own at home, following recordings and vids that Ms. Sana sent to her, hiding them as instructions for classical asari dancing. She'd followed the examples exactly, and Ms. Sana had said she'd done really well, given how little training she'd had. But nothing beat having her teacher right in front of her, moving her hands and elbows and shoulders into the right place. This was only the third face-to-face lesson they'd had, but Alli already felt like she was much better than she had been on Arcturus.

When Alli had gone through the ten different positions seven times (she was starting to sweat a little now), Ms. Sana finally said, "Good. Now close your eyes and concentrate on the block in front of you. Reach into the middle of your mind to see it, and let everything around it fall away. Concentrate only on the block and on what you wish for it to do. Now, move from first position to second."

Alli could feel the numbing tingle in the base of her neck and in the palm of her hands and her fingertips. She kept her eyes closed and her movements slow. Ms. Sana said she didn't actually need to move her hands, that her being a biotic meant she could technically do everything without moving a muscle. But these exercises connected her biotics to physical memory, which made them easier to control. Alli was mostly concerned with suppressing her biotics right now, but she had to admit that being able to move things without touching them was actually pretty fun.

A _thunk_ told Alli she'd lost her hold on the block.

"You are not concentrating, Allistair," Ms. Sana admonished her. "Return to first position and begin again."

Alli resisted a frustrated hiss and moved her arms back to where they had been, pulled back with her fist closed at her hip. It wasn't actually hard to lift the block, but she'd done it so many times—even on Arcturus—that it just wasn't interesting. The only way it could be fun again was if she were trying to lift a krogan.

"This is boring, Ms. Sana," she said and opened her eyes. She could hear the whine in her own voice and nearly winced. It's not that she was complaining—she just wanted to do something new, something more challenging. "When do I get to do the fun things?"

Ms. Sana tried for a stern glare, but Alli could tell she was trying not to smile. "What fun things would you prefer to do, Allistair?"

She shrugged and resisted the urge to kick the ground. "I don't know. That singularity thing looks pretty neat."

Ms. Sana crossed her arms and looked at Alli for a long moment, her lips pressed into a thin line as she considered. "All right, ma'dulcissi. Let us try for a singularity."

Alli felt her fingertips already warming with excitement. A singularity! Even Kardi couldn't do that!

Ms. Sana began to move Alli's arms, hands, hips, and legs. She pushed her feet into position and when she was done, Alli began to measure her breathing, just like Ms. Sana had instructed her from the beginning of her training. She felt the air rush into her lungs, and she felt it push past her lips as it left her body. Her mind slowed down, and her muscles loosened.

"Good," Ms. Sana said, nodding. "Close your eyes and focus on a single point one meter in front of you. That point is gravity itself. It is a singular point in the universe where space and time fold in on each other infinitely."

Alli kept her eyes closed, but she felt the corners of her mouth turn down in a frown. "That's kind of a lot to think about, Ms. Sana."

Ms. Sana's words were soft, but her voice was firm. "Your mind is not small. Focus, Allistair."

Alli went back to her breathing and tried to picture what Ms. Sana was saying. The best she could do was think of a piece of paper folding itself again and again until it couldn't fold anymore, until it was tougher than steel. She didn't know anything about space-time—well, not much, anyway—but she knew it had rules. Even if you couldn't break rules, you could still manipulate them, make them do what you wanted if you thought about it hard enough. Maybe space-time was the same.

She was distantly aware that Ms. Sana was moving beside her, but she did her best to keep her thoughts on folding paper and bending rules. Her head and neck felt hot, and the sweat beaded behind her ears. The smell of ozone filled her nose, but she kept her breathing deep and even regardless.

Ms. Sana's voice almost startled Alli, despite its gentleness, "Open your eyes, Allistair."

Slowly, Alli dared to crack open one eyelid. Twirling in front of her was the block she'd dropped earlier, floating and turning around a single point. It dropped almost immediately, and Alli wished she'd opened both eyes to see the scene fully and in all its glory. She'd done it! And on her first try!

"Your concentration still needs work. One day you will need to set a singularity with both eyes open. But that was an excellent first try."

Alli felt giddy. A singularity! However short it had been, it had been a real singularity!

She felt Ms. Sana's hand grip her shoulder, and she broke her glance away from where it had been fixed on the spot where the block had just been floating. Ms. Sana was smiling brightly at her.

"You did very well, Allistair," she said. "Take a break for now. Eat something. We will try again in a little while. For now, however, be proud of yourself. A singularity is not an easy feat."

Alli nodded and grinned, but she didn't say anything. Without realizing it, she'd lost her breath and was now panting. This whole biotics thing sure wasn't easy, but it felt good! Her sessions with Ms. Sana always felt like opening a pressure valve.

She followed Ms. Sana into the kitchen, where she pulled out the cake container. When Ms. Sana lifted the lid, Alli could see the frosting smeared everywhere, but that didn't seem to bother Ms. Sana. She took out two plates and put a piece on each, smoothing out the frosting almost effortlessly. She set a plate and a fork down in front of each of them and nodded at Alli to eat.

"You are progressing very well, Allistair," she said as she dug into her own piece of cake. "You still need to work on your concentration, but the ability is there." She frowned as she took a bite and chewed it slowly. "We need to start thinking about what happens next."

Alli swallowed hard. "What do you mean what happens next? You show me something else and I learn it. Isn't that how we're supposed to do this?"

Ms. Sana shook her head. "I am no biotics master, _ma'dulcissi_. I am a middle step. I am teaching you based on how I remember learning, and your needs as a student are rapidly exceeding my abilities as a teacher."

Alli felt her face go cold, and her appetite plummeted before she could swallow another bite. "But, if you don't teach me, who's going to do it? Am I going to have to go to Brain Camp?" As much as Alli wanted to appear calm and mature, her heart was racing.

Ms. Sana set her mouth in a hard line and put a hand on Alli's. "Biotic Acclimation and Temperance Training would be good for you. You would have instructors who are trained in biotic pedagogy—" Ms. Sana stopped, perhaps reading the fear that Alli was trying so hard to suppress. "If you do not wish to go to BAAT, I will do my best to keep you here." She leaned back again. "I have an acquaintance here on the Citadel who runs a dance school. As far as I know, you would be the only human pupil, so the true nature of your lessons could remain discreet. If you do well enough, you might even be able to get into a dance school on Thessia." She paused and looked down at her hands. "You will not be able to hide your biotics forever, Alli. Very soon, you will need an amplifier. Dancing will help you, but it is not a permanent solution."

Alli poked idly at her cake and avoided looking at Ms. Sana. Why was she telling her all this? Was she going to tell the Alliance or something? Was she getting tired of her? Had she talked to Mom already? They'd only just started training together in person. Was she so eager to get rid of her?

It was possible Ms. Sana could guess what Alli was thinking because she reached over and squeezed Alli's hand again. "I will continue to teach you what I know for as long as you wish," she said. "However, I would prefer it if you received better instruction when I no longer have anything of value I can teach you. What you have is a gift, not a curse." Alli had to try very hard not to bark a laugh. "The Alliance is afraid of what it does not know, but that does not mean you have to be. It takes courage to learn because you must be vulnerable to grow in the necessary directions. I can see you growing comfortable, Allistair. It will not be tomorrow or the next day, but soon, I will be doing you a disservice by continuing to teach you."

She removed her hand from Alli's and, smiling gently, brushed her hair behind her ear. "You can be afraid if you need to be, Allistair, but do not let that fear stop you from doing what you need to do. You have people who love you and who will always be here to guide you. Myself, of course. Ms. Odessus. Your mother. Your father. Take comfort in us if you cannot find it within yourself."

Her stomach was doing somersaults at the thought of the Alliance finding out about her biotics. Maybe Ms. Sana was right, though. She would give this dance school thing a try when Ms. Sana said it was time. Maybe it would trick the Alliance like she hoped, but if it didn't? Well, Mom and Dad were Alliance, so it couldn't be that bad, right?

Somehow that thought didn't settle her insides any.

"Okay," she said after a while. "But can I just think about it for a while? I don't think I'm ready yet."

Sana nodded. "Of course. Take the time you need, and I will be ready when you are."

#

Hannah hated moving. She'd moved across the UNAS more times than she cared to remember as a kid, and the uprooting had never been pleasant. The actual traveling was exhausting, and everywhere they went she had to answer the same tired questions about where she was "really" from; the divisiveness of the question seemed to worsen the farther north or south they went.

More than anything, though, she'd hated the packing and the unpacking. At least with the Alliance, moving to a new housing assignment was quick and clean. A couple footlockers and maybe a few boxes for personal effects, but not much else. The old housing unit you left was identical to the new housing unit you entered. Easy peasy.

Unfortunately, there was no Alliance housing on the Citadel, so they'd had to accept relocation and living stipends to find their own accommodations instead. Sana had been ecstatic that Hannah would be moving to the station and had been their proxy in acquiring a new apartment for them before they arrived. When Hannah walked through the front door for the first time, she was taken aback by how open everything seemed and needed a moment to adjust to the new floor plan. Then she'd realized that it was open because there was no furniture, and she'd had to bite back a string of expletives at the thought that they'd have to furnish the place on their own. And with Michael already on assignment, she was going to have to do all of it on her own whenever she could find an hour or two free during her evenings.

The lack of furniture and other wares notwithstanding, Hannah found that she liked their new home. The ceilings were higher and the rooms were wider; she felt relaxed here and like she could move unhindered. Alli would be able to "dance" to her heart's content and never have to worry about elbowing over a vase or a bookcase or whatever might inadvertently get in her way. (Hannah made a mental note to add "vase" and "bookcase" to the ever-growing list of things she hadn't realized they didn't own.) And there were four rooms, not the previous two, which would give them room for other things, like having an office and an actual guest room that actual guests could use if they wanted to. (That _did_ mean that she no longer had a good reason for her mother not to visit, but it was an acceptable loss.)

But the bulk of the moving in wouldn't do itself, so Hannah rolled up her sleeves (both literally and metaphorically) and got to work. She started by walking through their apartment—more of a townhouse, really—and taking inventory of their most pressing needs. A bed, nightstands, and a dresser for the master bedroom. A sofa, love seat, and entertainment center for the family room. Table and chairs for the dining room. Desks and chairs for the office. The guest bedroom, at least, could remain empty for the time being, and the kitchen came with all the major appliances, thank goodness.

Over the course of a week, new crates and packages arrived every day. Sometimes, the delivery team would also be there to set up the purchase, if it was large, but not always. They did have a dining table and a sofa (though not a coffee table) by Alli's birthday, but the entertainment center wasn't set up yet, so the vid screen was still on the floor. Hannah would need more hands to help her with that, and the only other pair in the apartment belonged to a sullen and precocious preteen going through her first major life change. Beyond getting Alli to network all the electronic devices in the household, Hannah knew better than to ask for help from that particular direction. She would normally ask Bautista to help, but she was on the same assignment as Michael at the moment.

By the tenth day, she was nearly settled in, with enough storage and shelf space finally set up to hold everything that still remained in boxes. It took a few hours and several cups of coffee, but by late morning, she'd finally gotten just about the last of everything small organized and put away; all that remained were a few key big things. Hannah was pondering exactly how she was going to grow five or six extra arms to take on that particular task when her 'tool pinged.

 _/OR: Settling in okay?_

Hannah smiled and wondered if there were any stores around that sold whatever the dextro equivalent of pizza and beer was. She was very much done with moving in and not above bribery at this point.

 _/HS: I will be once I sprout a few extra hands to set up the last of this furniture. Or, you could help me. Whichever is easier._

There was only a brief pause before the answer came back.

 _/OR: Be right over. Off-duty today. Sana's free too._

The relief Hannah felt was almost palpable. She wouldn't have to do it all alone after all. She sent an affirmative and let herself fall heavily onto the sofa, a small frown starting to tug at the smile that had just been there.

She hadn't actually seen Dess since they'd boarded the station, and Hannah wondered what had kept her so busy. Sana had been there to greet them and show them to their new apartment, but various incidents at C-Sec kept coming up and keeping Dess from meeting with her. Hannah had been disappointed not to see her, but work was work. It'd be good to see her finally, but Hannah got the distinct impression she was being avoided. Which was ridiculous, of course. Why would Dess want to avoid her?

Then again, tension between Dess and Michael had always existed; _Shanxi_ was a strictly forbidden word when both were present. Maybe _that's_ what Dess was trying to avoid? Hannah could only hope Michael wouldn't instigate another argument the way he had the last time they'd visited. After all, they lived here now.

In some ways, Hannah saw their being stationed on the Citadel as a chance to cut away the remnants of the last years' difficulties between her and Michael. It wasn't a new start, not exactly—with everything they'd been through, starting over seemed impossible to hope for. But it was their way forward without constant reminders of how much trial they'd endured. They were finally starting to be happy again, and though she wouldn't say it out loud, Hannah was relieved to escape the miasma of their old unhappiness that had surrounded them on Arcturus.

No, she'd be fine. _They'd_ be fine. Dess was her closest friend. Michael had made a lot of strides in coming back from whatever angry and unhappy place he'd been; he wouldn't make trouble like he had before, she was sure of it.

A sharp rapping at her door brought Hannah out of her reverie. Her heart beat a little faster as she made her way to the door and opened it. Both Dess and Sana stood on the other side, each grinning at her and Dess holding a wrapped package. Sana moved first and threw her arms around Hannah.

If Hannah's heart gave an extra beat at seeing Dess, she ignored it and returned Sana's fierce embrace. Dess nodded toward her in greeting and turned into the kitchen to set down and unwrap the package. With the butcher paper torn away, Hannah could see that it was a shallow, clear glass bowl with a small lip turning up and toward its center. Inside the bowl was a tight cluster of green-petaled, succulent flowers. Dess filled the bowl with water, and a sharp, sweet scent, like orange blossoms, wafted toward Hannah.

Dess set the bowl down on the counter in front of Hannah and slid it gently back, away from the edge. Hannah reached out to push the flowers through the water. They were soft as velvet.

Dess flared her mandibles wide. "Those are _hala_ flowers, from Taetrus. It's customary to bring them into new homes because they're supposed to prepare the space for a new spirit to grow." She waved her hand almost dismissively. "I don't believe in any of that, but they smell nice. Better than plastic and packaging."

Hannah smiled brightly and squeezed Dess's arm—she hadn't figured out yet how to hug a turian. "I couldn't agree more. Thank you. They're beautiful."

Dess flicked her mandibles in a shy grin and rolled her shoulder. "What's first?"

Hannah considered briefly which of the remaining items were the most pressing. "The bedroom," she said and cracked her neck. "It would be nice to have an actual bed to sleep on tonight, instead of just blankets and a pillow on the floor."

She led them up the stairs and into the master bedroom, which was second in size only to the living room. The dresser was already set up, a low bookcase stood half-filled on the other side of the room, and two nightstands sat in a corner, waiting for the bed to finally be set in place.

She pointed to a stack of boxes and said, "We need to put together the frame and head and footboards before we can put the mattress on it. We can take care of the bedding, sheets, and nightstands after that, and then this room will be done."

Hannah took out the instructions while both Sana and Dess started opening boxes and lining up the pieces to be connected. They worked quickly and efficiently together, sliding the mattress into place after only fifteen minutes of work. Hannah's back and shoulders were already thanking her for the first good night of sleep she'd get since arriving on the Citadel.

"Humans and asari," Dess grumbled and cracked her neck. "I'll never understand how you sleep on such flat bricks. Doesn't it hurt?"

Sana smiled slyly. "Not to worry, Odessus. At least Cassia has a nice, comfortable bed for you."

It took a moment for what Sana said to sink in, and Hannah didn't notice right away how Dess went still.

"Who's Cassia?" she asked, already realizing how thick-headed the question had been and feeling the heat rise inexplicably in her cheeks.

Sana arched a brow and said, "Did she not tell you? My dear cousin has been locking spurs lately. With only one person, no less. Wonders never cease."

Hannah looked at her blankly. Maybe her translator had glitched. "I don't know what that means."

Sana nodded in Dess's direction. "The eternally single turian has finally succumbed to another's charms for more than a night. They are quite the couple."

"Spirits, Sana," Dess said, shaking her head. Her neck started to blue, and she turned toward the stack of boxes in the corner of the room. "I told you, we're not a couple. She's my partner at work, not in life."

Hannah's chest pulled tight in what would've felt like disappointment in any other situation, but that was silly. Why should she be disappointed? She cocked her head at Dess, a gesture she hoped belied whatever it was she felt at that moment, and said simply, "Office dating? Bold choice." She suppressed a wince at her own words. _Too harsh_ , she chided herself.

Dess shrugged one shoulder but still kept her attention on opening the box in front of her. "She was persistent." There was an edge of embarrassment to her voice, if Hannah wasn't mistaken. "She's not my girlfriend or anything. It's just . . . stress relief."

"Does she know that?" Sana asked, still grinning and pulling out a dark blue fitted sheet from the top box. "She asks you to stay the night often enough."

"Spirits, Sana, yes of course she does. That was a mutual condition from the start. Neither of us wants attachments. Can we stop talking about my sex life please?"

Hannah chuckled, despite the irrational twinge of what felt a bit like jealousy, even though that was even more ridiculous than being disappointed. A smile was better than a frown, and why did she feel like frowning, anyway? She should be happy that Dess found someone. So why was she decidedly not happy? "My mother always told me not to get my honey where I get my—never mind, I'm a bad example. I'm sure you know what you're doing. If you're happy, I'm happy, Dess."

Her mandibles flared out as she glanced up at Hannah. "That's . . . appreciated but premature. I have a bedmate, not a bondmate."

Sana clucked at her and let the sheet fly over the bed. "I have been around for several centuries, dear cousin, and you are not the only person to protest love only to find yourself in the middle of it. I have seen it enough times to know how this little affair will go."

Dess shook her head. "What you've seen is too many romance vids. Sometimes people just . . ."

Hannah winked at Dess and said, "Take pity and change subjects?"

Dess's shoulders eased down and she nodded once, a look of gratitude flashing across her eyes. "I'd appreciate that."

 _Why hadn't Dess said anything before?_ Hannah pushed the question from her mind. It's not like Dess owed her an accounting for everything she did in her private life.

As Sana stretched the corners of the sheet over the mattress, Hannah reached into the box and pulled out the top sheet. She shook her head. By the way the sheets were haphazardly folded, it was clear Michael had packed this box. Luckily, these sheets were brand new and resistant to wrinkling. Hannah had bought them on impulse and washed them just before leaving Arcturus. The old sheets had been pearlescent lavender—an extravagance she'd allowed herself over the standard-issue sheets that came with their housing. But they'd grown thin and faded and started to pill. These new sheets were smooth, cool, and unmarred, if messily folded. They were another extravagance, but at least she wouldn't be sleeping on something that could double as a dish scrubber.

She let the sheet unfold and flared it over the bed once Sana had finished her task. The asari caught the other side of the sheet, and together they tucked in the edges.

"What's this?" Dess asked and Hannah glanced up to see what she was referring to.

Dess was leaning over the box with the rest of the bedding, holding the comforter under one arm and reaching into the box with the other. She pulled out an omni-tool with a black stripe down the side.

"It looks like a Bluewire," Dess said and tossed it to Hannah. "Why do you have a burner 'tool?"

Hannah caught the device and blinked at Dess. "A what?"

"A burner 'tool," Dess said again. "It's a cheap model, limited functionality, easy to ditch. That black strip blocks any incoming signals—calls, texts, programs—that haven't been preapproved by the user. They can usually store a limited amount of data, but pull that black strip and the OS gets wiped. I've used them under cover. Red sand dealers use them to make drops. Politicians use them for affairs." She paused and fluttered her mandibles, looking away. "They're . . . good for keeping a low profile."

Hannah turned it over in her palm. "It's not mine," she said and ran a finger along the stripe. "I've never even seen it before . . ."

The image of a black stripe down Michael's wrist flashed through Hannah's mind, and she slipped the dermal clamps over her free arm. The display came up and two icons floated in front of her, a book and a folder. She opened the folder, but it was empty. She went back to the book and a single contact, "BG," popped up. She raised a finger to press the call button and hesitated. Instead, she tore the 'tool from her arm and threw it in a drawer in one of the nightstands then moved the stand to where it would stay by Michael's side of the bed.

"Probably for an N7 mission or something," she said and swiped the back of her arm across her forehead at the sweat that had started to bead there. It had to be from an N7 mission. "Maybe a confidential contact."

Hannah didn't miss the look that passed between Sana and Dess, but she pretended to as she helped smooth out the comforter and slide pillows into cases.

They moved on to the living room after they were done there and set up the entertainment center and emptied several more boxes. That took a little longer, and by the time they'd finished, Hannah's stomach was starting to grumble. Sana heard it and chuckled.

"I think it is time for a break," she said and brought up her 'tool. "I am sure Alli will be home soon as well. You two stay here, and I will go get some food for us."

"You don't have to do that, Sana," Hannah insisted. "You're doing _me_ a favor. I should—"

Sana waved her off. "I insist. Besides, I know what to get for Odessus as well."

She turned and left before Hannah could protest more.

Dess chuckled softly behind her. "She does that. You'll get used to it the longer you're here. Easier to let her have her way."

Hannah glanced up at Dess, now standing beside her. She couldn't help grinning. It struck her how unlikely her life had turned out. In the space of ten years, she'd gone from living in Brazil to living on a space station to fighting aliens to _befriending_ aliens and finally to living among them—one of whom was determined to be a mother hen, while the other was . . . what was she? What did you call the person who saved your life, whose simple presence made you feel at ease and . . . happy? Hannah wondered briefly if that's what Cassia did for Dess and felt that irrational twinge again. She ignored it. Again.

"So. Cassia, huh?" Hannah said and nudged Dess's arm with her shoulder.

Dess rubbed the back of her neck and her mandibles quivered. "Sana exaggerates. I think she wants me to settle down almost as much as my parents do." She sighed and let her arm fall to her side. "I'm not very good at relationships."

For as long as she'd known Dess, the thought of her being romantically involved with anyone hadn't occurred to Hannah. Dess never brought it up, so Hannah had assumed there was nothing to bring up. She resisted the urge to shake her head at herself for not asking. A sigh escaped her regardless, and before Dess could ask her about it, Hannah stepped toward the kitchen.

"I think Sana made sure to stock my fridge with dextro beer. Want one?" she offered.

She grabbed two bottles, carefully keeping the levo separate from the dextro, and returned to the dining room table where Dess had taken a seat.

"You've never been in love?" Hannah asked as she sat across from Dess and set down their bottles.

Dess shrugged one shoulder, and her neck blued again. "A couple times, yeah. Always with the wrong person. Once when I was fresh from Basic, but that didn't really last long. That's when I learned military romances aren't a good idea, even if they're allowed. Then another time some years after that. Didn't work out."

Hannah shook her head and huffed her disapproval at the two who clearly didn't know what they had in front of them with Dess. "They're idiots, both of them. Maybe third time's the charm with Cassia."

Dess shook her head once. "Definitely not. And if anyone's been the idiot, it's been me. Shouldn't have gotten involved with a superior officer, for one thing. Cassia's probably a mistake too, if my romantic record is anything to go by." She met Hannah's gaze, and her mandibles stilled. "What do humans say? Old habits die hard?"

Hannah nodded. "Yeah, that's one way to put it. Bad habits, too."

Her thoughts turned to the unfamiliar 'tool now sitting in the drawer of the nightstand beside her bed. What was Michael doing with one of those? He'd had plenty of assignments, but nothing in the past couple of years that required him to go under cover—at least, not that she'd known about. But then, there was so much of his work that was eyes-only, and certainly not for her eyes. So what was it doing here, now?

The thought that he might be having an affair flitted through her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. Michael might be many things, but an adulterer wasn't one of them. Sure, there was room for doubt, but something in her gut told her he wasn't seeing someone else. So what was it then? What was he hiding from her? From anyone who might be interested in the things he did? _Why_ was he hiding it? Who was BG? What had been in that empty folder?

"Is there a way to recover data that's been deleted from a 'tool?" Hannah asked, realizing only after the words had left her tongue how abrupt the subject change was.

Dess nodded, picking up her train of thought without pause. "As long as new data hasn't overwritten it. C-Sec has a whole unit dedicated to data recovery."

Hannah turned the bottle in her hands slowly, pulling at the paper label to avoid meeting Dess's gaze. "Do you think you could have them take a look at that 'tool? Without reading or seeing what they recover?"

Dess flicked her mandibles in hesitation. "I can. I have a few favors I can call in if you want to be discreet. But . . . Han, you know you're not going to like whatever they find. Do you want to know?"

Hannah looked up and clenched her jaw. Dread froze the marrow of her bones, but she had to know if she was just being paranoid. God, she hoped she was being paranoid. "Yes. I can't ignore this."

Dess held her gaze for a long moment then nodded. "I'll bring it in first thing tomorrow."


	8. Hubris (2165)

_(noun): a great or foolish amount of pride or confidence_

#

Alli was dying by the time her last class got out. It wasn't that she didn't like galactic history, but jeez did Matriarch Aelya have to focus so much on all the boring stuff? How many stupid treaties were there, anyway?

She caught Kardi's arm just outside the door and started to pull her down the hallway. Segundus—tall and lanky, not yet grown into his dark brown crest—caught sight of them and followed after.

"Hey, Alli," Kardi said, looking down at her arm. "Where are we going?"

"To solve a problem," Alli said, letting go of her once she'd fallen in step.

"Okay," Segundus offered. "What kind of problem?"

"The kind that needs a lookout when you solve it," Alli said, grinning up at him.

Kardi's brow furrowed. "I have to tutor Glows with the Light of the Enkindlers in an hour. Will your problem be solved by then?"

Alli nodded, having met the hanar Kardi was tutoring and appreciating how much they needed help understanding algebra. "Oh yeah, definitely. Fifteen minutes, tops. I just need to find one of those terminals the Keepers use."

It hadn't taken Alli long to learn the natural current of the student body flowing through the hallways, and now she could navigate through it like she'd been doing it for years, not a handful of weeks. She turned down several halls, pushing past volus, salarians, asari, turians—even the odd human.

As a matter of course, Alli tried to stay away from the other humans. Most of them she'd known from Arcturus, and seeing them usually made her stomach do somersaults. But this school was so much bigger; there were easily three times as many students in her grade as there were in the whole school on Arcturus—primary and secondary combined. She could avoid them fairly easily if she was careful, and she had no desire to be reminded of how much they disliked her—or to prompt them to share their opinions of her with the students at this school.

Alli was much more comfortable with Kardi's friends—with _her_ friends. Realizing she actually had friends now was so jarring that she sometimes pinched herself—checking first to make sure no one was looking, even if they didn't know what the gesture meant—to make sure she really wasn't dreaming. She still half-expected they would get bored of her or come to realize what all the kids on Arcturus had realized—that she wasn't someone you wanted to know or associate with if you could help it. So far, though, they hadn't seemed to come to either of those conclusions, and she wasn't about to voice her worry. Not when things actually seemed to be going well.

Alli and Segundus often studied together and fell into an easy back and forth of one-upmanship. Their strengths tended to overlap, which made the competition that much more fierce, though still friendly. She'd already gotten a better grade than him on their first test. He held his mandibles in tighter that day, and she figured that was how turians pouted. Well, he should do better next time.

Tullia, also a turian, seemed transfixed by Alli's hair and had hardly known her a day before she'd asked timidly if she could touch it. Alli wasn't used to that close of contact, but the laser focus on Tullia's face made her acquiesce, hesitating at first but slowly growing used to it. By the time Alli had finished her first week, it had become routine for Tullia to take up one of her braids, undo it, and then try to braid it again. Despite the initial challenge of only having six fingers, it only took a few tries for her to get the hang of it.

Lessa, a small-framed asari with much darker blue skin than Kardi's, was a more reserved than her other companions and would usually only talk to Alli if they were alone or the others were preoccupied in a different conversation. Her voice was soft and quiet, and she would send Alli sketches—of the Presidium, of a keeper, of the krogan statue, of just about anything—at unexpected hours, but no message came with them. She asked Kardi whether Lessa did this with anyone else, and Kardi shrugged and assured her she would get used to it.

Neirin and Cortne, a salarian and a volus who appeared to Alli to be inseparable, seemed to come into the group from time to time and disappear again just as suddenly. Kardi said they were usually holed up in the school's chemistry lab, doing goddess knew what but at least the school was still standing.

Right now, however, she only had Segundus and Kardi to help her. It might be nice to have more than a couple lookouts, but she'd work with what she had. She led them to a Keeper nook near the school's server room—an area far removed from any of the areas frequented by students—and peeked around the corner. Perfect. No Keeper right now.

It was funny, now that she thought of it. For as much as she'd heard about aliens hating humans, they'd been friendlier to her than anyone she'd known on Arcturus. Had Dad been wrong? No, he must've known something she didn't. So why had every alien she'd met been so nice to her? It was nice having friends, so she didn't want to question it. But _why_?

She brought up her 'tool and interfaced it with the console in front of her.

"What are you doing?" Kardi whispered around the corner at her.

"Kaius was completely unfair in how he graded my essay," Alli whispered loudly over her shoulder as she navigated her folders to find the virus she was looking for. "So I'm fixing it."

"Fixing it?" Segundus's head appeared around the corner, just above Kardi's, his mandibles trembling with the question. Alli suppressed a sigh of frustration—some lookouts.

"Yes, fixing it," Alli said. "My parents fought in the First Contact War, and my mom almost died. Like hell am I gonna call it the Relay 314 Incident."

She didn't have to look over her shoulder to feel Segundus and Kardi exchange glances in the beat of silence that followed.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Segundus asked, a nervous tremor in his voice.

Alli rolled her eyes but kept her attention on the progress of the program she was uploading to hack into her teacher's grade book. "Of course I am," she said, trying to suppress her annoyance. "I refuse to let my grade suffer just because Kaius can't get his head out of his cloaca."

"But don't you think he'll notice?" he asked. "What if he catches you? Won't you get in trouble?"

The program chimed to announce successful access to the grading book. "There," Alli said, grinning. "Why would he notice? He's done with that assignment, so there's no reason to go back and check it. I'll be fine."

She turned and rounded the corner again to face her friends, neither of whom seemed keen on moving. Segundus shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His brow plates shifted down and his mandibles twitched in that way that said he was debating whether to say what was on his mind. "But, if he does catch you, not that he will, but if he does . . . Alli you could get kicked out of school. Is it really worth it?"

Alli paused and glanced back toward the console. She hadn't considered that. On the outside chance she did get caught—maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but maybe toward the end of the term—where would she go? Would she have to go an Alliance school again? Dad might be happy about that because she wouldn't be around so many aliens all the time, but she could already see Mom's disappointed face.

Kardi crossed her arms and looked disapprovingly at Alli. "Did you at least try talking to Kaius first?"

Alli's cheeks felt hot and she pulled at her braid, looking at her fingers as they twirled the end instead of at her friends. "Well, no, but I thought he'd . . . My dad said turians are . . ." She glanced quickly at Segundus and her blush burned hotter. "I . . . I hadn't thought about that. I'll, uh, I'll leave my grade."

She turned back toward the console, and in a few swipes, killed the hack. She faced her friends again, her blush starting to subside, and grinned sheepishly. "You're right," she said. "I'll try talking to him tomorrow. I'm sure he'll be reasonable."

Segundus seemed to relax and Kardi's expression softened. "It's okay, Alli," she said and put an arm around her shoulders as she led them back the way they'd come. "I know things were different on Arcturus. My mom says new races can go through a bit of—what did she call it?—culture shock when they first come to the Citadel. You'll be okay. You just need to get used to things here."

Alli felt her own shoulders relax. How could she have thought that hacking into Kaius's grade book was a good idea? She wasn't on Arcturus anymore; she would have to try to do things the way everyone did them here. But now she looked like a cheater. Would Kardi and everyone else start to reconsider being friends with her? Alli's heart began to race at the thought. She would have to try harder if she didn't want to end up an outcast again.

The halls were now practically empty; apparently, the enthusiasm to rush home at the end of the day wasn't species-specific. It hadn't been more than fifteen minutes since the final bell had rung, but you wouldn't think so to look at the abandoned halls. Perhaps that's why it was more surprising when the three of them turned again and nearly ran into a student leaving the administrative office. Alli stumbled back several steps, still caught in Kardi's arm and registering the student as human.

"Shepard?" His voice was incredulous, and the sound of it sent electricity racing down Alli's spine.

"Gerald," she said flatly, meeting his icy stare.

He stood a full head taller than her. Pale skin, sandy blond hair, dark brown eyes—he'd been a favorite among many of the girls on Arcturus, but the sight of him only turned Alli's stomach.

Gerald rocked back on his heel and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, don't you look just chummy with aliens," he said with a sneer curling his upper lip. "Figures."

He didn't go into more detail about what he figured, but she could tell he was trying to bait her. She ground her teeth and refused take it—that would only make things worse. Instead, she stepped out from under Kardi's arm and brushed quickly past Gerald, in no mood to spare any more words for him. He followed after her. Figures.

"I almost forgot your mom was on _Einstein_ too," he said at her elbow. "No idea what she did to get an assignment like that. Or _who_." Alli curled her fists and felt the heat rise in her cheeks—though not from embarrassment this time—but kept walking. "It's so good to see a familiar face here. We'll be best friends, I'm sure of it."

Segundus appeared at Alli's other side, and she felt Kardi's reassuring grip on her shoulder.

"Alli, who's this?" Segundus asked, and she could hear an edge in his tone. She hadn't told them about Gerald; she'd hoped when she hadn't seen him at the school that she was finally done with him. She wanted to forget all about him.

"No one," she snapped. She kept her glare fixed firmly in front of her. She wouldn't look at him. "Go away, Gerald."

But he didn't go away. "My dad was on meritorious leave when _Einstein_ docked here. He stopped a transport of slaves practically by himself. So I've been on Earth with him for the last few weeks. Now he's back on duty, so here I am. I guess you wouldn't know what that's like, though. Your dad's never done anything _meritorious_."

Alli felt the hairs on her arms stand up as the now-familiar tingling started to heat her skin. Kardi gripped her harder and pressed her fingertips into her shoulder in the sequence of the maneuver she knew was supposed to quell her corona. "Alli," she said, her voice flat and full of warning that didn't need any more words.

Alli appreciated the reminder, but it wasn't necessary—she wouldn't let Gerald get to her, _she wouldn't_. She clenched her jaw and kept walking, not looking at him. "I'm not doing anything to you, Gerald. Go away."

He laughed and walked a little faster until he was in front of her, putting a hand on her chest to stop her—a glacier seemed to settle in her gut. "Come on now, I'm just trying to have a friendly chat," he said, his hot breath near enough she could smell the milk souring in his mouth.

Segundus stepped forward and tried to position himself between Gerald and Alli. "You're making her upset. Stop."

Gerald sneered at Segundus and pushed him aside with the back of his hand—Alli only distantly registered Kardi's _excuse me_ and Segundus's low growl—keeping his attention on Alli. "So what, Shepard? No humans want to be your friend, so you start hanging out with turians of all things? Did you promise to be his pet or something?" Alli felt Segundus bristle beside her but she put up a hand to stop him from doing anything. "You know, I think my dad was wrong about you. You're more like your mom. Bowing to aliens, licking their boots. I mean, your dad might be a psycho, but at least he's got stand—"

Alli's fist connected with Gerald's jaw before she was even aware of the impulse. She'd heard her dad talk about seeing red in a fight, but that's not what she saw. No, she saw blue. It flickered and licked at her eyes, her arms, her fists like fire. The blue coursed over her skin, humming and pulsing and amplifying her fury tenfold. She wanted to punch Gerald again. And again. And again as many times as it took for him to stop talking, stop following her everywhere she went.

Gerald was on the floor, holding his jaw and looking terrified, when Alli felt a three-fingered hand on her chest and another holding her arm back from striking another blow. She didn't even get to feel any kind of satisfaction before terror flooded her.

"You're—you're a biotic!" Gerald shouted, pointing at her as he scuttled backward one-handed on the ground. "I knew it! You really are one of those freaks!"

Kardi had stepped in between Alli and Gerald and flared her corona. "How stupid can you be?" she spat at him. "Of course I'm a biotic, you idiot. All asari are!"

Alli felt ice run through her veins and turned in the direction Segundus pushed her. What had she done? She walked quickly down the hall, hearing only distantly as Kardi argued with Gerald, who insisted he knew what he'd seen. Segundus kept his hand on her back and matched her strides easily.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I . . . I don't know—"

"I'd have done the same thing," Segundus said, a low growl on the edge of his voice. Alli stole a glance at him and saw his mandibles twitching in agitation and his brow plates turned down. "I'm guessing the two of you didn't get along on Arcturus?"

She bit her lip and shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she said, the tears forming behind her eyes. "He's gonna tell his dad I'm a biotic, and then his dad's gonna tell the Alliance. They're gonna send me to BAaT, I know it."

"Kardi can talk circles around anyone. She could probably convince him he's a turian if she tried. He won't say anything," he said and stopped walking.

Alli realized they'd arrived at a rapid transit just outside the school. She hadn't been paying attention to where they'd been walking.

"Go home, Alli. Kardi and I will take care of Gerald." He flicked his mandibles in a strained smile. "I'll see you tomorrow. I might even let you beat me at calc to help you feel better."

Alli laughed weakly and sat heavily into the car. Home wasn't far away, but she really didn't feel like walking even that short distance. _What am I going to do_ , she thought, panic already boiling in the back of her mind. If Gerald told his dad, that was it for her. He could have her sent away—far away from Mom, from Dad, from all her new friends. Of course. Right when she was just starting to get used to this place—just starting to look forward to seeing friends, to _having_ friends.

The rapid transit stopped in front of her home and opened the door. She hesitated a moment, flexing her fist and shaking it out. It had only been one punch, but her knuckles were red and the skin burned. How was she going to explain all this to Mom?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _Don't panic_ , she told herself. _Just be cool_. After taking another deep breath, she opened her eyes and stepped out of the rapid transit. The door loomed ominously in front of her, daring her to walk inside and face the consequences of her actions. She lingered only a few moments, then took a deep breath and walked inside. As quietly as she could manage, she slipped her shoes off by the door and hung her bag on its hook. Maybe Mom wasn't—

No. Mom was home. She was sitting at the dining room table, her elbows on the table and hunched over something. She looked . . . distressed. What was she reading that she found so upsetting?

"No," Mom said quietly. "No, this can't be what it looks like."

Oh no. Had Gerald already told his dad? Was she already talking to his father?

"I didn't read the report, but it's unlikely that what they found is inaccurate."

Alli couldn't see Ms. Dess from where she stood, but she recognized her voice. That was weird. Alli couldn't remember either Mom or Ms. Dess being here this early before. When did they get here?

Mom shook her head. "No, I know. I just mean there has to be an explanation. Something not obvious. This is . . . it can't be . . ." Ms. Dess hummed but didn't say anything else. "I have to talk to Drescher about this. She owes me. I don't care if it's classified, if anyone can shed some light on this, it's her."

Alli stepped quietly around the corner and said, "Mom?"

Mom jumped in her seat and put a hand on her chest. She looked pale, almost sick. "Alli!" she almost shouted, her voice high. "You startled me."

Alli looked down at the table, where a blue envelope and a pile of papers—real sheets of paper, not datapads—was spread out in front of Mom. Alli glanced across the table, where Ms. Dess seemed to sit impassively, but Alli could tell she'd gone tense as well from how her mandibles pressed tightly to her jaw.

"Is everything okay?" Alli asked, looking from Mom to Ms. Dess.

Mom exchanged a look with Ms. Dess and seemed to ask a silent question. Ms. Dess nodded, and Mom began to gather up the papers and shove them back into their envelope.

"I have to go," Mom said as she sealed the blue flap. "I have to go to Arcturus for a meeting." Mom took the stairs two at a time and disappeared into her bedroom. Her voice was smaller, but it traveled as she said, "You'll stay with Ms. Dess and Ms. Sana until I get back. I should be home in a few days."

Alli looked at Ms. Dess and cocked her head, not knowing exactly what question she wanted to ask. Ms. Dess, however, wouldn't make eye contact and instead passed her hand over the top of her crest. Alli heard the slide of the closet, and if she had to guess, it was Mom pulling out her travel bag to pack it.

"It's nothing to worry about, starshine," she said, still in her bedroom, her voice unusually high and reassuring. "Just a little last-minute meeting with Admiral Drescher for a, uh, research project."

Alli frowned. She hated it when Mom lied—she wasn't even good at it. Alli kept her voice low as she asked Ms. Dess, "Is Mom okay?"

"She says she is," Ms. Dess said, but the shake of her head and the shrug of her shoulders told a different story.

The fight with Gerald seemed so far away now, and only the throb in Alli's hand reminded her how fresh it really was. Should she tell Mom now or wait for her to get back? She certainly didn't want her to find out from Gerald's dad. She opened her mouth to ask why Mom was so upset, but then Mom was already coming down the stairs.

"There's some food in the fridge and the pantry," Mom said. "Pack as much of it as you'll need, and I'll deal with the rest when I get back. I have to be on the first transport shuttle out of here and it leaves in," she brought up her 'tool's interface, swiped a few times and sighed. "Twenty minutes."

Mom walked past Alli toward the door, barely stopping to kiss the top of her hair.

"But what if Dad comes back?" Alli asked.

Mom froze in front of the door, her hand hovering above the glowing green access panel.

"Call me," she said and the door opened then closed behind her retreating figure.

Alli turned back toward Ms. Dess, fear freezing its way through her veins. Both her parents had been deployed at the same time before, but this felt different. "What's going on? Why was she in such a hurry to leave? Why couldn't she just _call_ Drescher?"

Ms. Dess finally met her gaze again. "I wish I could tell you, Alli, but even I don't know. Those were classified . . . research papers. I don't know what they said to make her so worked up. Your mom is the only one who knows what she's talking about." Her gaze shifted downward and settled on Alli's hands. She frowned and said, "Alli, what's wrong with your fingers? They're pinker than normal."

Alli glanced down at her hand and sighed. "I got in a fight," she admitted, defeated.

Ms. Dess's brow plates drew down in disapproval, but she didn't say anything for a long moment. Finally, she sighed and asked, "Are you all right?"

Alli didn't know how to answer that question.

#

It wasn't Michael's fault.

Fucking _Geneva_. What a _goddamn mess_.

He'd done everything he was supposed to do to get Greenwood and her team onto the ship undetected. It was some fucking new guy with an itchy trigger finger who got them into a firefight with every goddamn Alliance soldier posted to the ship. Even with Michael deliberately missing every shot, Greenwood's team ended up with four fatalities. She and the only other surviving member of her squad were taken into custody.

Then they found Michael's access codes and the virus that hadn't had enough time to self-destruct, and he was taken into custody too. Just. Like. He. Fucking. Said.

 _Fucking goddammit._

There was a lawyer already waiting for him when they arrived on Arcturus, and he seemed confident that he could get Michael off with very little trouble.

"These raiders obviously stole your access codes, Major," the lawyer, Mr. White, said as he scrolled through the list of charges and evidence. He was tall, blond, and utterly forgettable. No scars or marks marred his skin, he was good looking but not remarkably so, and he exuded calmness. Michael couldn't help admiring how effortlessly this person was able to achieve the kind of infiltration look that spies and spec ops soldiers often worked for years to perfect.

"You're the victim here," White continued, "and there's no reason a highly esteemed N7 operative like yourself should be railroaded like this."

Michael stared at the lawyer for a long moment, unsure of whether he actually believed what he said or if he was already working on building reasonable doubt—he didn't know much about the law, but he knew the prosecution would have to build up that much. He shrugged and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. As long as he didn't get nailed to the wall for this shit, it didn't matter.

"How long do you think it'll take to sort everything out? JAG was pretty quick to send you. Should I take that as a good sign?" Michael asked.

White kept his eyes on the datapad in front of him and shook his head. "The Judge Advocate General didn't send me, Major Shepard. My employer is a friend of yours who wishes to remain anonymous. He's very interested in making sure an innocent man like you isn't punished for other people's misdeeds. We expect to have this misunderstanding cleared up as quickly as possible. Your grand jury is scheduled for a week from today."

Michael breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he wouldn't be forgotten. "That seems . . . fast."

White nodded and turned off the datapad's display as he looked up at Michael for the first time since he'd sat down. "It is. We see no reason you should languish under house arrest while an interminable investigation into these trumped up treason charges goes on for weeks or months. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. Call your loved ones. Let them know there's been a misunderstanding that you need to address but that you'll be home soon."

 _Han. Shit!_ He'd been so focused on what was immediately in front of him that he hadn't considered her at all.

"Yeah," Michael said, dreading that particular conversation already. "I'll do that."

White stood and left without so much as a goodbye, and Michael leaned forward again, rubbing his hands through his hair. What was he going to tell Han? This White person could probably get a grand jury to believe he hadn't done what he did and dismiss the case, but would Han believe it? He'd made so many pains to convince her he wanted things to work between them, and she seemed to believe. Hell, she'd practically eaten it up. Not that he was lying—he really did want things to work out. He was sure she'd believe anything she told him now too. She was in his corner, no matter what.

He was going to have to steer clear of these people after this mess got cleaned up. Maybe one day when he wasn't under so much scrutiny, he'd be able to go back to helping their efforts. If that day ever came, that is. Who knew how long he'd have to keep his nose clean for?

He stood and started pacing his room. It wasn't a cell, not exactly. He had a decent-sized bed, a bathroom, a small table and a couple of chairs, and the room to himself. But just on the other side of the door stood a guard who would make sure he didn't leave. It was better than what he'd gotten after the incident with those batarian slavers, so he took that as a sign the evidence wasn't exactly conclusive yet.

He paced the room, his mind reeling over what he was going to tell Han. Maybe if he slept on it, he would have a clearer head and know what to say? So he did.

For three nights he slept on it, pacing his small space during the day and tossing and turning in his bed at night. This was serious, and he had no idea how he was going to explain himself to Hannah. The Alliance was easy. Han? Not so much.

On his fourth day in custody—a brutally boring, interminable time he spend exercising and shifting between novels he couldn't focus on—he took a deep breath and decided a text was the best option. He was supposed to be home by now anyway. She must be worried sick.

 _/MS:_ Geneva _mission got complicated. Tell Alli I'm tied up on Arcturus working out details. Be home soon._

He watched the blinking cursor for a good fifteen minutes before sending the message. When he finally stopped agonizing and sent the message, he laid down on his bed and covered his face with a pillow. If he was lucky—and he was usually lucky—Han would take the two short sentences at face value. He hadn't lied, after all. It's not like she could accuse him on that front. His 'tool beeped.

 _/HS: Good to know._

What was that supposed to mean? He closed the interface and took a deep breath. It didn't mean anything. There was no way she could know about what had happened. She was just glad he had checked in with her after being so late coming home. It happened with spec ops soldiers. Sometimes timelines didn't work out. Han knew that. Of course she did. He had nothing to worry about from her.

He started rehearsing what he'd tell Hannah about why he'd been delayed in coming home. He wasn't comfortable with a direct lie, but he couldn't tell her the truth either. But he would have to tell her _something_. Maybe if he framed everything through White's words? Technically, that wouldn't be a lie.

Two days before his grand jury, and one day after he'd messaged Han—fuck he was going out of his mind with boredom—his door hissed open, and he assumed it was White coming to break up the monotony and work out any last kinks in his story. Maybe they could cast enough doubt on the prosecution that the charges would be dropped and he'd never have to go to trial at all.

But it definitely wasn't White at his door.

"Thank you," Hannah said to the guard. "I won't be long."

Michael's stomach dropped. He wanted to do something, say something, anything. But he was frozen, dumbfounded, in place as Hannah walked calmly to the table and sat where White had been only days ago. Why was she here? How did she know where to find him?

She pulled up her sleeve and removed her 'tool from her wrist.

No. Not her 'tool. _His_ 'tool. The black stripe down the side of it was unmistakable.

"Han—"

She held up a hand to stop him and said, "You've made me an accessory after the fact."

Not plaintive. Not angry. But even, like she was remarking on the weather. The coolness of her tone sent a chill down his spine, and he swallowed hard. Where the hell had she found that 'tool? And how had she found out what was on it? He'd deleted everything the last time he used it. The thought came to mind that she wouldn't be an accessory if she'd left well enough alone, but he didn't dare speak those words. Not with the way she sat as serenely, as calmly as the eye of a hurricane at the table with her hands clasped loosely together in her lap. God, why did she have to be so curious? Couldn't she just have thought he was having an affair like a normal person and let him dispel that doubt? Why did she have to go digging around? And who was helping her? Who else knew what he'd been doing?

"Han, this isn't what it looks like," he said and took the seat across from her. How was he going to explain this? He didn't know how he was going to explain it, but he had to say something that would get her on his side again. He'd think of something.

"It's funny," she continued as if he hadn't said anything. "I didn't know about the _Geneva_ incident when I arrived on the station. I came here with the intention of going to Drescher to call in a favor and ask her for your sealed records because I needed to know for sure why you would be trafficking classified weapons research. I came here because I wanted to give you the chance to give me a reason that wasn't what any of this _looks like_." She said the words pointedly and pinned him to his chair with her stare. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed—yeah, she was angry. Angrier than he'd ever seen her. "Then you told me about _Geneva_. And the admiral had _a lot_ to say about that little incident."

Hannah leaned forward and put her hands on the table. "You brought these people into our lives, Michael. You brought dangerous people into _our daughter's_ life, and as long as you associate with them, she's at risk. She deserves _so much_ better than that." To his surprise, her shoulders slumped, and she let her head fall forward into her hands as she rested her elbows on the table. "I deserve better than that," she said, defeated and almost too quiet to hear.

The impulse to put his arms around her was strong, but he resisted—there was no way Han would want him touching her right now.

She looked up, meeting his gaze again—the anger was gone, but it was replaced by something more . . . upsetting, unnerving. No tears betrayed her, but her eyes glistened and her brow furrowed. "Did you ever think of me in all of this?" she said, her voice breaking.

"Han, please let me explain—" he started but she waved away his words and leaned back again.

"Even if you did say something true at this point, I wouldn't believe it," she said.

She took up the 'tool, and in one fluid motion, she ripped away the black strip, much to Michael's surprise. She cleared her throat and said, "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to plead no contest to the charges. You're going to serve your time. You're going to tell the authorities everything you both know and think about who you worked for when you let those bastards on _Geneva_ , which should get you a reduced sentence." She stood again and made her way toward the door. "I won't tell anyone about the arms trafficking, but that's the only favor I'll do for you. A big one, if you ask me. When these people are out of your life, I'll consider letting you back into Alli's." She paused. "You'll hear from my lawyer in the next week or so." She hesitated with her hand raised to knock on the door. She turned toward him and said quietly, "Please, Michael."

He wanted to go after her. He wanted to protest, to tell her she had everything wrong. He was protecting their family, not putting them in danger. But a lead weight kept him in place.

Michael sat rooted to his chair for a long time after she left. Was any of this really happening? If she'd let him say anything at all, he would've been able to explain himself and the people he worked with. He could explain that, yes, they might be dangerous, but not to _humans_. Or if they ever were, it was only in self-defense or in service to the greater good of protecting more people. They wouldn't have hurt anyone on _Geneva_ if the plan had worked out. He wasn't putting Alli in danger—the opposite, in fact. He was making sure the galaxy was safer for her, and these people were doing the same.

But he knew Han wouldn't hear any of that.

" _They're gun runners, Michael_ ," he knew she'd say. " _Who do you think they are?_ "

A fair point. But still. She didn't understand. She _wouldn't_ understand.

What would happen if he didn't do what she said? What if he got the charges dropped and also promised not to pass along classified documents anymore? Couldn't they compromise? Why did he have to go to prison? Out of some kind of misguided principle?

Han's ultimatum rang in his ears, and he felt like he was going to be sick. There would be no compromise; he knew that already. He was going to have to spend a significant part of his future in prison, and he was going to have to face Alli from behind a glass wall several inches thick. She would believe the things she was going to hear about him. She was going to look at him like a convict, like a traitor to the Alliance, and he was going to have to live with that somehow. Because the alternative that was that he would never see her again at all. Han hadn't said it like that, but she'd been abundantly clear.

Han. She was sending her lawyer to him. So she was . . .

 _Fuck._

His thoughts chased each other for hours. The guard came in once with his dinner—which he didn't touch—and then again to take away the tray. At lights out, he lay in his bed, but his eyes refused to close. Han's face filled his mind, and he couldn't shake the look of betrayal he'd seen there. What if he'd told her about Cerberus and everything he'd done for them before the _Geneva_ incident went FUBAR? Would she have been more understanding? Would she be putting him in this position now? Would she be on his side? He scrubbed his palms over his face and forced his eyes to close. Those questions were useless and their answers didn't matter because they didn't change anything about his current predicament.

There was no getting around it. Han won. He'd do everything she asked of him. If there was a way to get her to look at him with . . . anything but that angry, devastated look, this was it. She wanted him to go to prison—to serve his time, as she'd said—and he would. Not happily, but obediently. Maybe then she'd reconsider . . .

Michael felt himself drift, but sleep eluded him for what seemed like endless hours. When the lights in his room flickered on, he gave up. He got up, cleaned up, and asked the guard to call his lawyer. By 0800, White was seated across the small table from Michael once again.

He sat passively as Michael explained his decision. When Michael finally finished, White said simply, "No."

Michael groaned in annoyance. "I want a different lawyer. I'll take whoever JAG assigns me. Hell, I'll represent myself if I have to. This is my decision. Not yours. Not our mutual friend's. Mine."

White's stillness was unsettling, but he persisted. "No. Major Shepard, your intentions are admirable, but unfortunately, you will not be allowed to serve a prison sentence, let alone reduce it by divulging such private information. Furthermore, our friend still considers you a valuable asset. He would much prefer to continue your relationship. He has authorized me to present you with an alternative option."

Michael shook his head. "An alternative option?" Then realization dawned on him, and he knew that none of what he'd said was new information to White. "How can he have an _alternative_ option?"

"I bugged your room when I was here," White said dispassionately. "I can imagine that fact is not a pleasing one, but it's standard practice for detained operatives, nothing personal. Our friend has considered Commander Hannah Shepard's offer and would like to make a counteroffer."

The impulse to pummel White into a bloody mass was strong, but Michael tamped it down. "Talk fast," he said, grinding his jaw.

"Your colleague Greenwood's exit strategy has been set in motion. In a week, she'll be transferred to Vancouver to be held there; however, there will be an accident, and there will be no body."

"You're going to kill her? After everything she's done for . . . our mutual friend?" Michael felt himself shaking with anger. He didn't particularly like Greenwood, but she was a good soldier and committed to humanity's welfare. She didn't deserve to be dispatched so callously.

White nodded once. "In a sense. In one week, Bethany Greenwood will be declared dead. The following day, the world will meet Caroline Meyerhoff. Caroline has an extra seat on her shuttle registered to Gabriel O'Connor." White paused before continuing. "Will Mr. O'Connor make his flight?"

Michael huffed. "What about the other guy? The one who fucked up everything to begin with. Give him that seat."

White returned his glance to his datapad. "Mr. Ames has been reassigned. My employer believes he will be more useful serving his sentence. His particular skillset—or lack thereof—is more useful _inside_ a prison than outside of it."

Michael paused to let himself think about what exactly someone like Ames would be assigned to do on the inside. He'd guessed there were more of these people around than there appeared to be—to engage the batarians on the scale they had, they'd need quite a few people on the inside feeding them information and resources—but only now was he starting to understand exactly how many of them there were. He leaned forward and said, "Let's just say I don't take this . . . exit strategy. What happens then?"

White gave no pause before giving his answer. "My employer will assume you no longer wish to continue your friendship. He will maneuver to preserve his existing assets accordingly."

Michael pushed back his chair and started to pace, his hands on his hips. "So, I go with you or you kill me. That's what you're telling me?"

White shook his head. "Those are your words, Major. I've said no such thing."

Michael snorted. This manipulation was leaving a bad taste in his mouth. "Yeah, right. You've said nothing at all." A thought came to him that sent a chill down his spine. Had Han been right? "What happens to my family? If I don't go with you."

White folded his hands on the table and said, "The commander's resolution to reveal our friend's operations poses a problem. We prefer to deal with problems before they progress."

Michael rounded on him, pulling him from his chair and slamming him against the wall. The only thing stopping him from snapping this fucker's neck right now was the guard standing on the other side of the door. White seemed to know this and hardly reacted to Michael's sudden outburst of violence at all.

"However," he continued patiently, "she also appears to be largely ignorant of who our friend is and what he's trying to accomplish with his operation. The less she knows, the better, wouldn't you say, Major? It seems then that you offering more information would only create more problems for her. Well, only one more problem, specifically."

Han's words came ringing back to him. She'd been right: he'd brought these people into her life. All the anger went out of him, replaced by resignation and nausea. He dropped White and backed away.

"What do you need me to do?"


	9. Ingenue (2165)

_(noun): an innocent or naïve girl or young woman_

#

Ms. Dess might not have pushed Alli about her fight with Gerald, but Ms. Sana had plenty to say. Alli could feel her frustration as Ms. Sana held Alli's fingers while spreading a cooling gel across the throbbing red skin. Even Ms. Dess seemed uncomfortable as she paced across the kitchen with her arms crossed.

"You cannot get in fights, Allistair," Ms. Sana said, shaking her head. She clucked her tongue in disapproval.

Alli looked away and said, "I know."

"No, I do not think you do," she said and turned to wash her hands. She flicked the water from her fingers and took up a dish towel to pat them dry. "You were lucky today. Your biotics are still maturing, and not even I know what you will be capable of one day." She lifted Alli's face by the chin until they made eye contact and held her there. "You could have killed that young man, Allistair."

Alli let the weight of those words settle in her gut, and it made her feel sick. She hated Gerald but she didn't want him dead. She didn't mean to . . . she wouldn't have . . . "But you didn't hear the things he said!" she protested. "About Mom, about Dad. He knew just what to say to get to me!"

"Come on, Sana," Ms. Dess said, still pacing. "This kid's been harassing Alli for years. Give her a break."

"I will not," Ms. Sana snapped, and Alli saw Ms. Dess straighten her posture a little. "Because, I can guarantee that neither his words nor his intentions warranted a death sentence." She shook her head. "Allistair, it is your responsibility to manage your emotions. Failing that, it is your responsibility to manage your reactions to other people's words. Gerald will not be the last person to say something to get a rise out of you."

She held up a hand, and any further protest died in Alli's throat. "The things he said to you are not acceptable, but they do not mitigate the fact that your biotics are still unstable, immature, and unpredictable. If you know you could kill someone, even on accident, you must diminish that possibility."

Alli felt like she'd been the one who'd been punched. She swallowed the sizeable lump forming in her throat and started to respond, but her voice broke. She cleared it. "How? If I'm unpredictable?"

Ms. Dess stopped pacing and tilted her head toward Ms. Sana, her mandibles tight against her jaw. Alli had never seen Ms. Dess look disapproving before.

Ms. Sana's expression softened. " _You_ are not unpredictable, _ma'dulcissi_. Only your biotics are, and the right training can help you." She set her mouth in a hard line. "Training I cannot give you."

Alli shook her head, fear gripping her tighter than she'd ever felt. "No! No, I promise I won't get in another fight! I'll practice with you twice as much!"

She felt Ms. Sana place a palm on her shoulder and grip her gently, and Alli shifted her weight, looking back at the ground. "You can come to me any time, Allistair. But it is time for someone more skilled than I to teach you. I will arrange for you to meet your new instructor tomorrow."

A tear fell down Alli's cheek and she used her sleeve to hit it away. Only babies cried. "But what about the Alliance? Do we have to tell them?"

Ms. Sana hummed and shook her head. "As far as the Alliance be concerned, you will be taking rigorous dance classes. I will explain to your new instructor the nature of your predicament. She will be discreet, I promise. You will be as safe with her as you are with me."

Alli took a deep breath and had to try very hard to keep her voice from shaking. "Where's, um, where's my room? I have homework I have to do."

Ms. Dess put a hand on Alli's shoulder. "I'll help you get settled, kid."

Except for meals and school, Alli didn't plan to leave that room until Mom got back. She figured she couldn't hurt anyone else if she was locked behind a door.

In fact, she was starting to reconsider the school exception the next morning while she still lay beneath the covers of her bed, her heart pounding in her chest as thoughts about what Gerald might do to try to ruin her life today. But if she didn't go, she might miss information she needed to pass her next test. Should she get a bad grade or should she face Gerald? It was a hard choice.

She walked into the school doors cautiously, expecting . . . she wasn't sure what she was expecting. For everyone to stare at her? To see uniformed Alliance officers waiting for Gerald to point her out so they could take her away? Too many nightmare scenarios played in Alli's mind all at once, and it was hard to breathe. Until she realized none of them were happening.

No one stared. No even seemed to care she was there, just like normal. As far as she could tell, Gerald hadn't told anyone anything about their fight.

The warning bell rang for first period, and Alli hurried to get to class. Just as she slid into her seat, the one person she wanted to see least in the galaxy walked in the door—and when Gerald saw Alli, his face turned red and he hurried to a desk that was as far across the classroom as he could get. He had a garish bruise, mottled with purple and green, on his jaw and he didn't look in Alli's direction again.

Alli leaned over to Kardi and nodded toward Gerald. "What did you do?" she whispered.

Kardi shrugged but kept her eyes on the display in front of her. "I convinced him that in the heat of the moment he had gotten confused. You punched him and I flared my corona because you're my friend and I wanted to protect you." She paused. "Then I told him if he ever talked to you like that again, he would find out for sure what a biotic punch felt like."

Alli's heart skipped and she felt the blush rise in her cheeks. She'd said that? To Gerald? For her? And now Gerald avoided her like the plague. Alli's stomach did flip flops and she didn't know exactly what to do with herself. She'd never had a friend who would stand up for her before.

As the end of the school day grew closer, Alli found that pleasant buzzing in her ears subside and give way to the same twisting feeling in her gut she'd had that morning. Why did Ms. Sana have to give up on her so quickly? They'd been doing just fine with her private lessons. Who was this stranger she was going to see? All she had was an address and a name, and neither did anything to relieve her anxiety.

And Dad still wasn't home. Alli knew that he would be soon, that his missions sometimes changed and took more time than his CO planned for, that he wasn't some banker going to a conference, that he'd be home when he was home. But it would be nice to have either him or Mom to talk to. And Mom had only just left, so she was even less likely to be home soon. And if she was on Arcturus, she was definitely busy. As far as Alli could tell, both Mom and Dad had equal chances of getting home before the other. It was probably less likely, but she really hoped Mom got home first.

The final bell rang. It was time.

The dance studio was still dark when Alli arrived. Technically, the doors had still been locked, but they were easy enough to hack. It's not like she was breaking into the Council Chambers or something. She just wanted to get there early and get used to the space before anyone else arrived. She had to know what she was in for.

It was a wide-open space with mirrors on three of the four walls and a stack of mats on the far end. A single waist-high railing went around the whole room, and that was it. Alli had already left her bag in the locker room, and for some reason that made the room feel more cavernous—or maybe she just felt smaller. She put her hand against the railing and walked along the perimeter of the room, never letting her touch leave the cold, metal bar.

The door hissed open behind her, and Alli whipped her head around to see a dark blue asari with neon pink markings crisscrossing her crest walk through the door. A warm smile reached her eyes as she caught sight of Alli across the studio.

"You must be T'Oriza's young protégé," she said, her voice rich and resonant, as she walked leisurely toward Alli. No, walking wasn't the right word. She moved so smoothly, so gracefully, it was like she was gliding. When she reached Alli, she extended her hand. "Instructor Maera."

"Alli," she said and took the offered hand. It was warm and dry but a little rougher than a human hand.

Instructor Maera smiled again and squeezed her hand before letting it drop. "You're my first human student, Alli. I might be your teacher, but I'll be learning from you just as much. If you promise to communicate your limits to me, I promise to help you push them."

Some of the fear about trusting someone new gave way to a budding excitement that she could actually get better at handling her biotics. Alli swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, okay. I promise."

Instructor Maera nodded once and turned toward the metal bar. "All right then. Let's get started. Show me how you stretch."

Alli looked toward the door, then back at Instructor Maera. "Isn't anyone else coming?"

"Next time," she said. "Today, I want us to get acquainted."

Beads of sweat broke out on the back of Alli's neck. She'd hoped she could blend into the rest of the class, maybe disappear into the back row. Being the center of attention hadn't been the plan.

Stretching for biotics wasn't quite the same as stretching for exercise or phys ed. Sure, she had to twist and pull her arms and legs, but she also had to . . . it was like twisting and pulling her mind with them. Like stretching out her thoughts until they hung long and loose in her limbs, like cooked spaghetti. It was a little like meditation, except she felt energized instead of sedate at the end of it.

"All right," Instructor Maera said when Alli stood straight and ready. "Let's see your corona."

Alli took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting the electricity raise the fine hairs on her neck and arms. The electricity subsided in a wave of warmth, and Alli was careful to keep her breath even. She spent so much energy suppressing her corona—more than she needed to, she knew, but you couldn't be too careful—that it was like swimming against a current to flare it. And after yesterday's screw up, Alli felt especially reluctant to let go and let her corona flare.

She heard Instructor Maera say, "You can stop." Alli let out a final breath and opened her eyes, the studio air rushing cool against her skin. "Do you have an implant?"

Alli felt her face go cold at the thought of one of those things. "Do I need one?"

Instructor Maera chuckled. "I'll take that as a no. Probably for the better. Not many human companies are researching implant technology just yet, but I've been following one called Conatix." She frowned. "Better to wait for the next generation of their developments."

"What's wrong with what they have now?" Alli asked again, worry twisting her stomach. "Can't I just use one for asari or turians?"

Instructor Maera shook her head. "It doesn't work like that. Asari are biotically inclined enough that we don't need implants for everyday use, for one thing. It's usually only those who use their biotics in a professional capacity that use implants, and then only for enhancement." She pursed her lips in thought. "Besides, a multitude of biological and neurological differences makes cross-species implants an extremely dangerous proposition." She paused and studied Alli for a moment. "I'm not familiar with human development, but based on your size, I would guess you're still a juvenile. It's better to wait until your brain has matured more."

Alli didn't like the idea of getting wires shoved in her head—even less if the tech wasn't very good yet. What if they scrambled her brain? What if someone figured out how to hack them and controlled her from a distance? Would she ever even know? No, thank you. She didn't want to be anyone's puppet.

A hand on her shoulder snapped her back into the present. Instructor Maera looked steadily at Alli. "It's not something you can control, Alli," she said, her voice low and comforting. "Put it out of your mind for now, and show me what you can do."

Alli nodded. She might be able to put aside the thoughts of wires wrapping around her brain for the length of her lesson, but she knew she'd be thinking about it as soon as her head hit her pillow that night. But if Instructor Maera was right and she didn't have to get an implant until she was older, at least she had a few years to get used to the idea.

They spent the next hour reviewing everything Alli had learned from Ms. Sana. Instructor Maera was impassive throughout most of it. She corrected Alli's posture or movements a handful of times, but other than that she neither praised nor criticized. Alli had hoped she might get a read on how she rated compared to her presently absent classmates, but Instructor Maera only observed, betraying nothing of her conclusions or opinions.

By the end of their time together, Alli was sweating a great deal and felt like she'd just spent an hour running, not lifting and throwing foam blocks over and over. Instructor Maera brought up her 'tool and typed something into her interface. Alli's 'tool pinged a moment later.

"Today's lesson was informative," Instructor Maera said, her voice still not hinting what she thought of Alli. "I've sent you your homework, and I would appreciate it if you completed it before we meet again."

Finally, something Alli could work with. She opened the message expecting to see a list of strengths and weaknesses that she'd shown during their afternoon together but instead found a list of questions. "What is this?" Alli asked.

"I told you," Instructor Maera said. "It's your homework. Feel free to send me a message if anything confuses you."

Alli scrolled quickly through the list of questions. "These are just asking about my goals and stuff. Aren't you supposed to tell me how to get better?"

Instructor Maera pointed at the list hovering above Alli's wrist. "For now, your answers to these questions will tell you better than I can." She looked at the chronometer on the wall above them and then back at Alli, putting a hand on her shoulder to usher her toward the door. "I'm afraid we've overstayed our scheduled time in this studio. We'll have to wait until next time to talk more. It was a pleasure meeting you today, Allistair."

Her time with Instructor Maera had relaxed her. The taut wire of anxiety from not knowing what to expect was finally starting to loosen. Having to work with someone besides Ms. Sana didn't seem quite so scary anymore. Maybe everything would turn out all right after all.

Alli frowned. Dad probably wouldn't like yet another alien teaching her, but it's not like she had a lot of options. It was either this or go to BAaT. She'd have to think of how to tell him so that he didn't get upset and do that quiet scowling thing he did for days at a time.

She found her way back to the locker room, splashed water and her face and neck, and grabbed her bag. All she wanted right now was to change into comfortable clothes and eat the entire contents of the fridge and pantry combined.

Outside the studio, Ms. Dess sat on the hood of a skycar, scrolling lazily through a feed on her 'tool. She looked up when Alli descended the steps and flicked her mandibles in a half grin. "How'd it go?"

Alli adjusted the strap of her bag. "It was okay. I didn't know you were gonna pick me up."

Ms. Dess shrugged one shoulder. "Figured you'd be hungry."

Before Alli could say anything, her stomach answered for her.

Ms. Dess pushed off the hood and opened the doors. "Come on. There's a diner that sells levo and dextro meals a few blocks away. You can go back to demolishing our pantry tomorrow."

As far as Alli was concerned, they couldn't get there fast enough. Even before she'd closed the car door behind her, she could already practically see the giant burger she wanted to devour. Or maybe two burgers. And some fries. And some ice cream. Did they have ice cream on the Citadel yet? Gosh, she was hungry.

After they'd gotten to the diner and ordered their food, Alli asked, "Aren't you usually at work right now?"

Ms. Dess nodded once. "But I thought meeting a new teacher might be stressful for you. Big changes can be hard sometimes. How's your hand today?"

Alli flexed her hand and looked at the already-fading bruises on her knuckles. They were still a little stiff, but she hadn't thought about it all day. "It's fine," she said.

She wondered if Gerald had seen the bruises in class. Probably not. He'd seemed pretty intent on not even looking in her general direction. Kardi's threat had definitely done the trick.

Alli felt a blush rise in her cheeks at the thought of Kardi. They hadn't known each other long at all, but Alli already felt like Kardi had folded her into her circle, a circle that people like Gerald weren't allowed to enter. And everyone else in the circle, like Segundus, was just as ready to stand up for her and call her one of them. Alli still didn't understand it.

Alli shook her head and looked up to see Ms. Dess studying her.

"Have you heard from Mom?" Alli asked, hoping Ms. Dess didn't ask what she'd been thinking about.

Ms. Dess dipped her mandibles in an expression Alli wasn't familiar with yet. "She'd contact you before me. Don't worry. She'll call soon."

"So you don't mind me staying with you and Ms. Sana?" Mom had left so suddenly. Didn't Ms. Dess or Ms. Sana have plans that Alli had interrupted by barging into their lives?

"Why would I mind?" Ms. Dess answered without even pausing. "You're a good kid, Alli. Or maybe kid is the wrong word. You did something today you didn't want to do, something you were afraid of doing."

Alli sighed. "Ms. Sana didn't really give me much of a choice."

Ms. Dess chuckled. "I know Sana seems like mountains would move if she told them to, but you could've convinced her to indulge you if you really tried—I did it all the time when I was your age. But you decided to do the responsible and adult thing. I'm proud of you. Your mom will be too."

Alli didn't know what to say to that. She _had_ been responsible, hadn't she. She felt taller, somehow, just thinking about how responsible she'd been.

The server arrived, then, setting down one plate after another in front of Alli. They even had ice cream.

Mom and Dad weren't home yet, but Alli was starting to feel more settled than she'd been since they'd arrived on the Citadel. The stomach-churning stress that had clung to her insides before they left Arcturus seemed like a distant memory now. She couldn't wait to see Mom and Dad again and tell them how happy she was they'd moved here.

Alli ate every bite of the feast set before her, and promptly fell asleep as soon as she got back to her room and fell on her bed.

Over the next days, Alli felt like she got a stronger and more confident hold on what she could expect from her new lessons. She stayed at the back of the class, but she could feel Instructor Maera watching her always. Without exception, her other classmates were young asari, but after a few lessons, that didn't seem to matter so much anymore. Alli felt herself getting better control over her biotics every single day.

It was an easy routine to fall into. Wake up, go to school, hang out with her friends, go to dance class, come home, eat everything in sight, do homework, pass out, wake up again. There was an easy rhythm to it.

But then Mom came home.

She looked different. More gaunt, thinner somehow. When Alli finally worked up the courage to tell her what had happened with Gerald, Mom just looked tired. Alli promised not to do it again, and Mom smiled weakly and kissed the top of her hair. Then she went to her room and closed the door, saying she was going to bed early to get back on the Citadel's clock. That was it. She didn't have anything else to say. Somehow, that unnerved Alli more than anything else she'd expected to face.

Dad still wasn't home, though. He should've been home by now. How did Mom get home before him? Why was this assignment taking so long?

But her lessons continued, and Alli didn't miss a single one. In their own way, they were a kind of relief. Something was wrong with Mom, but Alli didn't know what. And Dad's assignment was taking way too long this time. There was something going on, she knew it. But no one was telling her anything. Her lessons let her feel like something was predictable, something was within her control.

Five days after Mom got home, Alli's rapid transit from the studio approached home, but there was something different this time. A black sky car parked outside their door, and a young, uniformed Alliance officer stood next to it at attention. As soon as she came to a stop outside her home, Alli jumped out.

"Hey!" she called toward the officer—a corporal, if she remembered what the chevrons on the shoulder of his working uniform meant. "If you want to go inside, you have to knock on the door first." Who just stood by a car staring at a building like that? It was creepy.

The officer didn't respond to her, but he didn't need to. At that moment, the front door opened and Admiral Drescher stepped through it. Alli thought the admiral always looked stern, but now she looked different. Grim, almost. The officer stepped to the side and opened the side door of the sky car. He fell into a salute, waiting patiently for Drescher to acknowledge him. But she didn't, not right away.

As soon as she caught sight of Alli, she paused in her tracks and seemed to hesitate. Alli had only met Admiral Drescher a handful of times and had never worked up the nerve to speak to her, but seeing her hesitate didn't feel right. It was like seeing a planet get out of the way of a ship passing by. It took a moment of consideration, but she diverted away from the officer holding the door open for her. When she reached Alli, she seemed suddenly unsure of what exactly to do with her hands until one settled on rubbing the back of her neck anxiously. What was happening?

She didn't seem to be able to look Alli in the eye at first and kept her eyes turned toward the ground. Then she took a deep breath and looked up, her jaw clenching and unclenching with whatever she wasn't saying.

"You're a good kid, Alli," she said. There was something new in her voice that sounded almost like a waver. "Your mom is going to need your help for a little while." She looked over her shoulder at the officer then back at Alli. "Give it a couple minutes before you go inside. Okay, kid?"

When Alli nodded silently, Drescher stood and walked to where her car was waiting for her. She acknowledged the junior officer's salute and disappeared into the cab. The officer closed the door then crossed wordlessly to the driver's side. Then they were gone, and Alli was left standing alone outside her home. Why was she supposed to wait a few minutes? Why couldn't she just go inside? It was her home.

She stepped up to the door but hesitated. She didn't have to take orders from the admiral, not really, but she felt compelled to obey. Mom had talked about how Drescher just had that presence that made you listen to her; now Alli understood what she meant. How long was long enough? The answer to that question came when Alli heard a loud crash, like glass breaking, and a voice bellowing on the other side of the door.

"Goddammit, Michael!"

Instantly, Alli's heart began to race. Mom had never yelled before, not that Alli had ever heard. Why was she yelling now? What had Dad done? Was he in trouble again? Was it batarians?

She didn't want to go inside so much anymore.

Alli stood rooted to the stoop in front of their door, the blood rushing so loudly through her ears she could hardly hear herself think. She swallowed and raised a trembling hand to the access panel. She walked slowly through the entryway until she reached the kitchen, taking each step with equal measures of hesitation and the need to know what was wrong. Her mouth had gone dry, and her heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of her chest.

"Mom?" she said and looked around the corner.

Mom was on her knees, brushing broken glass into a dust pan. Water dripped down the far wall and a small puddle crept steadily across the floor. Mom looked up, her face red and streaked.

"Allistair," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, like she'd remembered something. She shook her head and continued sweeping up the glass. "Be careful in here. I . . . I dropped a glass. Darn thing just slipped out of my hand."

Mom stood and dumped the contents of the dust pan into the incinerator. Her hands shook, unmistakably, and a tear fell down her face before she could wipe it away.

"Where's Dad?" Alli demanded. Even she was surprised by the firmness in her voice, but she didn't want Mom trying to smooth things over this time. She needed to know where Dad was. Right now. She needed to know the alarm ringing in the back of her mind was wrong. She needed her heart to stop trying to pound its way through her ribs.

Mom swiped at the tear and hiccoughed. She stared at Alli for a long moment before shaking her head and covering her face in her hands.

Alli took the few steps toward Mom, hot tears starting to burn behind her eyes. "Where's Dad?"

Mom took a deep breath and took her hands away from her face. She put a palm on Alli's shoulder and opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. She cleared her throat and started again. "He's not coming home, Allistair. Not this time."

All the air went out of the room, and Alli felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. There had to be some mistake. "No," Alli breathed. "That's not right."

Anger flashed across Mom's face, but it was gone so quickly Alli wasn't sure she'd actually seen it. "They're not usually wrong about these kinds of things," she said, her voice watery as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

Alli felt cold all over and shivered. Looking at Mom, she knew it was true. Dad really wasn't coming home.

"But Dad's . . ." her voice broke and she wasn't sure what it was she wanted to say. Too strong? Too good? Too important? Obviously, none of that mattered.

Mom's eyes glistened as she waited patiently for Alli to say what she meant, but she just couldn't find the words. She felt like the ground had opened up beneath her and she was falling. It was like when Dad snuck her into that shuttle when they were back on Arcturus and flew her around the station for her birthday. They'd turned off the gravity simulators, and he let her float through the shuttle. He gave her little pushes and she squealed in delight as she spun, her stomach flopping and her hands flying out to grab onto anything she could reach. Dad would always catch her again and when their time was up, she was laughing uncontrollably and hugging him tightly, thrilled and disoriented. Her cheeks had hurt from smiling and laughing.

Dad wouldn't catch her anymore. She wouldn't hug him tightly when he caught her. It was just falling.

"Alli," Mom said, brushing Alli's hair behind her ear and pulling her out of her thoughts. "He loved you very much."

Her stomach lurched, and she took a step away. Too much spinning. Too much falling. She needed to find a place to land.

"I . . . I should go do my homework," she said.

Mom reached out and grabbed her hand. "Your homework can wait."

"I have assignments due."

"Your teachers will understand."

"Was it aliens?" Alli demanded, a bright flash of fury heating her cheeks. She felt the hairs on her arms stand up with the electricity of her corona starting to flare. It took two deep breaths before she could continue. "Dad said turians hate humans. Or what about batarians? They don't like anyone much, but they really hate humans."

Mom cupped Alli's cheek and brushed away an angry tear with her thumb as it fell. "No, Alli. It was humans."

"Are you sure?" Alli felt her voice break. "Because he got in trouble with batarians that one time, and maybe they're still mad at him."

Mom put her arms around Alli then and pulled her close. The tears fell hotter and faster down her face and onto Mom's shoulder, and no matter how much she tried to stop them they just kept falling. She wanted to stop them. She'd cried plenty of times, but never like this. These tears felt different. They weren't the tears for a skinned knee or a sad vid. It was like they came from somewhere deeper inside of Alli. If she could only stop them from spilling over, maybe . . . maybe what? Maybe Dad would come home after all? How ridiculous was that? What kind of baby believed she could change the world by not crying? People didn't just come back from the dead.

Not that it mattered. She couldn't stop anyway.

#

How naïve, how blind, how _stupid_ she'd been. He'd played her like a goddamn fiddle, and she didn't even know how long he'd been doing it. He'd known she would trust him, and he used that trust to . . .

 _Goddammit, Michael!_

She had wanted to be wrong, to be paranoid and scratching at an old scar of distrust. Even the flimsiest explanation—that he had that 'tool for an assignment and just forgot to give it back, or that it and the damning files on it weren't even his—was more palatable than what she knew was the truth.

Even weeks after Michael's funeral (or rather, memorial because there were no remains worth recovering), Hannah still shook with rage at the thought of him, and she thought about him often. She'd been ashamed of herself to have Alli find her picking up the pieces of the glass she'd thrown against the wall after Drescher left. Now she was ashamed she just couldn't stop being angry at him.

What had she done wrong? Why had Michael thrown his lot in with people he should never have given the time of day? Endanger Alli? Endanger _her_? For what? For whom? Why would he choose these people over his own family? What did they have to offer him that made her the lesser choice?

But none it mattered now. Not that he'd gotten himself involved with illegal arms dealers. Not that he put her and Alli in danger. Not that she'd destroyed evidence of his treason. Michael had betrayed her and lied and gotten himself killed for it.

Or maybe that's what mattered most now. He was dead—Hannah's stomach turned at the word—but his fucking legacy of blind stupidity wasn't necessarily dead with him. Alli still cried herself to sleep at night the last two weeks since the memorial and was still going to grow up without her father. Michael's associates, such that they were, were still at large, their motives and operations still a mystery. And there was no telling whether they considered Hannah and Alli loose ends that needed tying up.

And Hannah had to face it all alone.

Like hell was she going to sit around waiting for thugs to show up and touch a single fucking hair on Alli's head. She needed the case files to the Geneva incident. She needed to know what happened.

Drescher's office door was hardly closed behind her when Hannah launched into her demands. "You owe me," she said.

With slow deliberateness, Drescher stood from behind her desk, keeping her dark eyes locked and unblinking on Hannah's.

"Ma'am," Hannah added, partly sheepish but still defiant.

Drescher nodded once. "Commander Shepard, let's be clear about what I _owe_ you." She stepped out from behind her desk and walked over to a tall cabinet. Inside, was a set of crystal glasses and a bottle filled with something brown and—Hannah felt sure in assuming—very old. Drescher took up two glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other and returned to her desk. "I owe you two things," she said as she poured the liquid into one glass and handed it to Hannah. "The first is bereavement leave, which you have already exhausted."

Hannah took the glass and waited for Drescher to continue.

Drescher took a sip from her own glass and sat down again. "The second is compassion." She waved her hand, indicating Hannah to sit. "Let's start with the second one."

Hannah sat heavily in her chair but had enough presence of mind not to slump, however overwhelmed she felt. Despite not feeling like drinking, she took a polite sip and suppressed a cough as her throat burned. "I apologize, ma'am," she started again. "I haven't slept much these last few days."

Drescher nodded and sipped again at her drink, keeping a considering gaze on Hannah. "I can't imagine what you've been through these last weeks," she said at last.

Hannah shook her head and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. "It's not that . . . well, it is, but not the way you think."

Drescher tilted her head. "Does this have to do with the files you needed access to on Arcturus? Which, if memory serves, I also _owed_ you?"

After another, more substantial sip, Hannah nodded. "Yes, ma'am, but I . . . it's hard to explain."

Drescher lifted her chin, challenging Hannah. "Why don't you try, Commander."

So she did. From what she'd found on Michael's 'tool to the implications behind him trafficking in classified weapons schematics to her suspicions of who was responsible for his transport shuttle being targeted and destroyed en route to Earth. She was on her second glass before she finished, but she wasn't sure if the fuzzy, exhausted feeling behind her eyes was entirely from the alcohol.

Drescher sat quietly, digesting everything Hannah had just told her. Then she hummed and set down her glass to bring up her console's interface. When she'd found what she was looking for, she turned back toward Hannah and said simply, "Cerberus."

Hannah blinked. "Ma'am?"

Drescher turned her console toward Hannah. "One of the apprehended raiders mentioned working for an group named Cerberus. I can only assume that's who Michael was passing Alliance R&D designs to."

A thrill went through Hannah and she leaned forward, her eyes scanning frantically through the document. It was short, scant even, and when she reached the conclusion, she had to read it several times to fully understand it.

"No indication 'Cerberus' is a substantial organization," Hannah read aloud, dumbfounded "No evidence of a larger threat." She sat back and covered her mouth with her hand. She shook her head. "I don't . . . how can they say that."

Drescher hummed. "I can't answer that question, Hannah." After another long pause, she turned the console back to its original position. "Unfortunately, I've already shown you too much. This case is labeled closed and classified. Above your pay grade, I'm afraid."

"Classified?" Hannah repeated. "If it's closed, shouldn't it be a public record?"

Drescher stood and smoothed her uniform. "I'm sure I don't know, Commander. If you will excuse me for just a moment, our refreshment has gone to my head. I will be back in a moment, but while I'm gone, please don't do anything with that file." She began to walk toward the door and without turning or pausing added, "And please don't use any of the blank OSDs I keep in the second drawer on the right."

"Of course not, ma'am," Hannah said as the office door closed.

With a copy of the _Geneva_ case file in hand, Hannah was well on her way home before Drescher returned.

She had to know. She had to know who these people were. She had to know what was so goddamn attractive about them that Michael had thrown her away like she was nothing. _She wasn't nothing_.

When she got home, she went straight to her office and uploaded the information from the "closed" _Geneva_ file and started poring over it. Near midnight, her wrist buzzed with a message. Dess. She swiped it away. She needed to focus.

She didn't sleep that night, but she did make a list of what to investigate next, starting with the other raiders who had been collected after their death.

Hannah spent the next day at her desk doing rote tasks to wait out the clock, her mind still reeling over the files she'd encrypted at home. She got a few more messages from Dess, but she swiped them away without reading them. Her mind was too filled with questions and speculations, and there wasn't much space to think about anything else. When it was finally time to leave work, she took the first skycar home she could find and barricaded herself in her office again. _Annalise Chiang_ was the first name on her list.

Chiang had been a security officer on Eden Prime but transferred to C-Sec two years ago—one of the first humans to join—probably looking for a little more excitement than the colony had to offer. She wasn't there long, but her record was thick—most of it censored. After only a year in C-Sec, Chiang resigned. That's where any official record of her stopped. She had died of injuries sustained during the firefight in _Geneva_ 's cargo bay.

Hannah woke at her desk, not entirely sure when she'd fallen asleep. She blinked and checked the time. 0520. She sighed, encrypted the new files she'd created, and headed to work again.

For days—Hannah had lost count of how many—this became Hannah's new routine. Work, go home, lock herself in her office, investigate the next name on her list, fall asleep at some point, wake up, do it all again. She had to scratch and claw to get the records she requested and to get anyone associated with the names on her list to talk to her, but she made some progress. It was slow and arduous, but now and then she'd get a break.

 _Xavier Bartolomeo_ was a former Alliance sergeant. He served with distinction for ten years before Shanxi. He'd fought under General Williams at the colony and led an unsuccessful attempt to retake the garrison before Alliance forces showed up. After the war, he racked up quite a list of insubordination citations. He was Cat-6'd in 2159 and started working on a rap sheet filled with assault, public intoxication, and resisting arrest charges. He went off the grid in 2164 until he showed up on Geneva.

 _Pierre and Denise Renault_ were brother and sister. Both survived a batarian slaver attack on a small, now-defunct colony on the edge of the Terminus systems. They were sent back to Earth but disappeared from the foster system in 2162—once again, until Geneva.

 _Guy Ames_ was the only one to survive. He seemed to be a professional criminal from the start. He had a list of charges as long as Hannah's arm, and his involvement was suspected in several burglaries back on Earth. All the evidence suggested he hadn't worked a single day of honest work in his life. Like all the others, he seemed to have disappeared altogether for roughly a year before he showed up on _Geneva_. He was the one who mentioned this Cerberus. Unfortunately, that was the first, only, and last helpful thing he ever said in custody. And every time Hannah tried to request an interview, her call was suddenly dropped.

 _Bethany Greenwood_. The name incited instant fury in Hannah— _BG_. Five years with the Alliance. A second lieutenant, despite a long list of low-level insubordination citations. Like Chiang, she came from Eden Prime. She had several requests for deployment to the Attican Traverse and Terminus Systems, but they were all denied. No wonder she washed out. She disappeared six months ago, after her commission expired. How did she know Michael, though? None of their assignments overlapped. They'd both been docked at the Citadel several times, but never on the same ship. How did they even know the other one existed?

There was something behind this pattern of Chiang, Bartolomeo, the Renaults, Ames, and Greenwood all falling off the grid in the last few years. If she could just find similar profiles among ex-Alliance and maybe even ex-C-Sec officers who were human—there weren't many of them—she was sure she could pick up a slightly warmer trail. If she could do that, she'd do everything she could to make that trail hot.

There was a tap at her door that made Hannah jump.

"Mom?" Alli's voice was muffled by the thick door. "Are you . . . should I make dinner tonight?"

 _Again_. She meant _again_. Hannah sighed and pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes. Shit.

"N-no, I got it tonight," she said and turned off the light of her desk.

She opened the door to find Alli standing, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Hannah reached for her, placing her hands on either side of Alli's face and stroking her hair. There was such a look of concern and wariness in Alli's eyes, and Hannah could feel her throat closing up. She was really screwing up something she absolutely should not be screwing up. She pulled Alli in and kissed her forehead, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Alli," she said. "Work is kicking my ass right now." She turned, leaving one arm around Alli's shoulder, and walked with her toward the stairs. "How about we order some pizza tonight and watch a vid. Your choice. Rating doesn't matter."

The look of worry on Alli's face lightened somewhat and she nodded. "Can I choose the toppings too?"

Hannah smiled. "As many as you want."

A few slices of pepperoni, mushroom, and olives later, Alli sat leaned up against Hannah's side as they watched an old favorite. Hannah's mind, however, kept drifting upstairs to her office and the threads connecting those disparate, disaffected, clearly angry people to . . .

Hannah stood up and Alli almost fell over on the couch with her support suddenly gone.

"Mom? Is everything okay?" Hannah distantly registered the spike in worry coloring Alli's tone, but she just needed to get this one thing done first.

"Yeah, honey," Hannah called over her shoulder as she took the stairs two at a time. "I just . . . I have a . . . I'll be right back. Keep watching the show."

The office door closed behind her and she slid into her chair, pulling her console out of its sleep as she did.

When was it that Michael had killed those batarians? Three years ago. No, no, it was after that. It was two years ago. Two years ago was when Michael changed, He'd been so angry and cold and distant since Shanxi, but he seemed to change. Overnight. Around the same time Chiang and Bartolomeo and the Renaults and Ames all disappeared.

Michael had disappeared too. Behind a mask. Like some kind of Stepford husband who said and did all the right things, who agreed with Hannah and didn't make waves. Who seduced her with affection and a peaceful home. And she'd eaten it up.

Cerberus—whatever it was, whatever it meant to do—was recruiting. The profile of their candidates turned Hannah's stomach cold. And she'd shared a bed with one of their infiltrators.

A soft knock at the door briefly interrupted Hannah's concentration. "Mom?" There was that worry again. "Mom, is everything okay?"

What was happening two years ago? Who else out there disappeared around the same time?

"Yeah, sweetie," Hannah called through the door. "I'll be right out. I'm just . . ."

Maybe if she did a search for . . . but she would need access to law enforcement files, possibly for ongoing missing person cases—assuming disappearances were even reported. On Earth, that could range from local police forces to Interpol. On the colonies? Especially the remote ones? There might be nothing at all. How in the hell was she going to do this alone?

She had to try. Because right now, Cerberus looked at best like a loose connection of thieves going after high-risk, high-reward items, like _Geneva_ 's antimatter. But why would Michael associate with thieves? There had to be something more to entice him.

Hannah fell directly back into her routine, poring over the _Geneva_ case file, the profiles of the perpetrators, her own notes. She had to find these people. She had to understand them. Whatever they were doing or planning, she had to put a stop to it.

The initial surge of energy Hannah felt after her realization Cerberus was recruiting—had been recruiting for years now, Christ—slowly started to wear off, and she felt her head starting to bob at her desk. She knew she should go to bed, but something—she didn't know what, but something—was just out of her reach. She couldn't go to bed until she'd grabbed hold of it.

A hand on her shoulder startled Hannah from the sleep she hadn't known she'd slipped into.

"It's me, Han," a quiet, humming voice said at her side.

She looked in the direction of the voice, her head still buzzing, and saw Dess leaning over her. She relaxed a little and turned back to her terminal to check the time. "Dess, what are you doing here? It's two in the morning."

Dess leaned back and crossed her arms. "That's a good question. Maybe I'm here because your Admiral Drescher pulled me out of an interrogation to talk to me about you earlier this week. Or maybe I'm here because I just got a call from Alli telling me she was worried about you." Hannah flinched. "Or maybe I'm here because you haven't been answering my calls or returning my messages, or because you're not eating enough, or because you're still working at this hour. I have a few maybes to choose from."

Hannah sighed and rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes until she saw stars. Yeah, none of that was good. "I'm just," her voice grated, and she coughed to clear it. "I'm just in the middle of something. An investigation."

"Uh-huh," Dess grunted, looking skeptical. "You command air groups. You don't do investigations, Han."

"No one else is either!" Hannah snapped, anger and adrenaline suddenly coursing through her. She regretted it immediately—god, she was so tired—but Dess's expression remained even. "I'm sorry."

Dess's mandibles twitched, and she nodded. Her arms fell to her side as she let her gaze wander across the terminal and the datapads strewn across the desk. " _Geneva_?" she asked, her eyes lighting on the datapad nearest her. "Han, are you investigating what happened to Michael?"

"No, I know what happened to him," Hannah ground out, "and it's not in any reports. You know the data you recovered for me?" Dess nodded. "It was classified Alliance weapons R&D. He was working for a group called Cerberus. He's the one who let them on _Geneva_ in the first goddamn place. And then they killed him before he could roll on them." Saying the words out loud to Drescher had only stoked Hannah's ire; saying them to Dess, after all the digging and reading, felt unexpectedly liberating. She sighed as she felt lighter.

"Now, I'm trying to figure out what _Cerberus_ is," she continued. "The lead investigator into the Geneva incident said there was nothing to look for, but I know they're wrong. These people are dangerous, and they're going to strike again sooner or later. Something has to be done about them."

Dess shifted through a few of the datapads without picking any of them up. "It seems like you've got a lot going here."

Hannah crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, stretching and cracking her neck as she did. "A lot of . . ." she said, her hands twitching as she resisted the urge to stop Dess from touching anything. "Instincts mostly, I guess."

Dess hummed, then left off her fussing and brought up the haptic interface to her 'tool. When she found what she wanted, she nodded and turned toward the door. A thrill of anxiety and confusion caught in Hannah's chest.

"Wait," Hannah called after her. "That's it? You're just going to leave? No lecture? No speech? No telling me to get my shit together?"

Dess chuckled softly—a rich, resonant sound that sent a sharp pang through Hannah's chest. She hadn't realized she'd missed that sound as much as she had. How long had she sequestered herself away from everyone while this Cerberus had taken over all her thoughts? She'd messed up with Alli—Hannah was working against a clock to protect her daughter, but Jesus, she could've at least finished the vid earlier—and now the fear she was messing up with Dess too was starting to creep inside her. Hannah had lost count of the number of calls and texts she'd promised she would get to later and never did. What kind of person was she?

"I can lecture you if you want me to, Han," Dess said. "I even still remember a few speeches an old drill instructor used to give. But I think you already know what you're doing wrong. And I'm not leaving for good. I'll be right back."

She turned and left the room, and Hannah began to stew in her own thoughts again. Her eyes burned and her head swam. Her joints and muscles buzzed with a dull, persistent ache, and the desire to sleep warred against her determination to press on. That . . . thing, just out of reach, still taunted her. The sooner she reached it, the sooner she could go back to being the person that Alli—that Dess—needed her to be. The sooner she could go back to feeling like herself again.

The smell of noodles and broth preceded Dess's return a short time later, and Hannah's traitorous stomach grumbled just as Dess rounded the corner. Her mandibles quirked out in a self-satisfied grin as she set the package and utensils down in front of Hannah and pulled the chair from the empty desk around to take a seat. She opened her own package of something citrus-smelling and steam billowed out. The disposable utensils gave a loud _crack_ as she broke them open and nodded toward Hannah's sweating carton.

"Old cop trick," Dess explained. "When in doubt, take-out." Hannah must've still looked confused because after a moment, Dess continued, "It's ramen. Not a lot of choices in food at this hour, but I hear it's a delicacy."

Hannah shook her head. "I just ate . . ." _Fuck, eight hours ago. My schedule's all messed u_ p. Hannah opened up her food and took an indelicate mouthful that made Dess chuckle again.

Dess took a bite of her own food and indicated toward the leaning stacks of datapads. "Tell me what you have so far."

She swallowed her noodles, salty with only a small bite of spice. "Like I said, mostly instincts," she said and launched into everything she'd uncovered.

All the names, all the charges, every missing shipment, every incident report on pirate raids on human ships, everything that she'd considered even tangentially related to what Cerberus could possibly be. A small voice inside kept repeating "classified," but she was too drained to heed it—and if she was being honest, she just didn't want to. Finally giving voice to everything she'd put together—and having Dess be the one to listen to her—felt like coming home after a grueling day of work.

Dess didn't speak as Hannah told her everything she both knew and suspected. She kept her honey-colored eyes steady and trained on Hannah, and her attentive silence made every word easier and easier to say. By the time she reached the end—had it really only been half an hour? to tell everything she'd discovered?—she felt like the glacier sliding around on her insides had finally started to thaw.

"I know Chiang's name," Dess said when Hannah had finished. "Internal Affairs started to investigate a series of complaints against her when she resigned."

That got Hannah's attention, and a new surge of excitement energized her. "What kind of complaints?"

"Excessive use of force against nonhumans, that sort of thing. One person claimed she'd extorted them, but she was gone before we could work up a solid disciplinary case."

Hannah frowned into her bowl and swirled what was left of the broth. A few noodles drifted through the liquid, and a bit of beef (or beef-like substance, anyway) floated to the surface. Michael had hated aliens too. And the Renaults and Bartolomeo. Ames? If she had to guess, she'd say yes. Or maybe he was just a gun for hire who didn't much care one way or the other, as long as he got paid.

"I'll help you," Dess said, breaking through Hannah's thoughts. She'd finished her food and was closing up the now-empty container as Hannah blinked at her. Dess looked back to Hannah and continued, "I trust your instincts, Han. There's something here. C-Sec doesn't have a lot of human officers, but that'll change eventually. I'll keep an eye on them, build profiles where I can. See who sticks out. Look for recruiting patterns." She shook her head. "I won't be able to do much more than that for a while, at least not without an official order for a full inquiry, but it'll give us something to work with if something does go wrong. That's better than nothing. We'll figure it out. Maybe find a pattern. I think you're right—Cerberus is going to come up again, and it's going to be a problem."

Relief flooded through Hannah and her voice caught in her throat. It hadn't been her intention to ask Dess for help—she'd already done and risked enough recovering the data from Michael's 'tool off the books—but it made sense. If Dess was willing to be her eyes and ears inside C-Sec, she might actually have a shot at finding that connection she needed. Or at least, a better chance than she had working on her own.

Dess stood and held out a hand to Hannah. "Just promise me you won't kill yourself trying to find this Cerberus. Your crew needs you. Alli needs you. I need you," she flared her mandibles as Hannah took her hand, warm even through her gloves, and stood, leaving the dregs of the now-cold soup on the desk behind her, "to get some rest. Call in sick tomorrow. Today. Sleep." She chuckled and added, "Get your shit together."

On impulse, Hannah wrapped her arms tightly around Dess's shoulders. As it turned out, it was actually pretty easy to hug a turian. Warmer and softer than Hannah had expected.

"Thank you," Hannah said, her voice close to breaking.

Dess tensed and hesitated a moment, then returned the embrace, placing her palms tentatively on Hannah's back. "Any time," she said, a low hum in her voice that reverberated through her chest and into Hannah's. "Let's get you to bed."

Hannah nodded and stepped away. "You're right," she said, too exhausted to be embarrassed by her outburst. "I'm sure Cassia is wondering where you are."

Dess rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about her. She has someone else entertaining her tonight."

Hannah shut down her console and left her office. Dess turned off the light behind them. She turned down the hallway toward the stairs, but Dess stopped her.

"I'll see myself out, Han," she said, taking Hannah's shoulders and gently steering her back toward her room. "I want to make sure you actually go to sleep, not back to your work. I know you."

Hannah wanted to laugh, but it came out as a half-hearted huff instead. She let Dess usher her into her room, where she sat heavily on her side of the bed before toeing off her shoes. It occurred to her briefly that she should change her clothes, but that would've required her to stand up again, walk all the way over to the dresser, find something to wear, change, and come back to bed. Instead, Hannah fell against her pillows and pulled the covers over her exactly as she was.

She felt the mattress shift as Dess sat at the foot of the bed—true to her word, she apparently planned to stay there until Hannah fell asleep. Against the protestation of every exhausted fiber in her body, Hannah sat up again and reached out with both hands for one of Dess's.

"Thank you," she said again.

Even in the dark, she could see Dess's mandibles twitch in amusement. "You said that already."

"I know," she said quickly, tightening her grip on the hand she held. "I . . . I thought I was going to have to do it all alone."

Dess was quiet for a long moment before covering Hannah's hands with her own. That contralto hum in her voice returned—Hannah wished she could understand her. "You're not alone, Han. Rest."

For the first time in months, Hannah pulled the warm blankets over her shoulders, closed her eyes, and fell directly to sleep.


	10. Justification (2167)

_(noun): an acceptable reason for doing something; something that justifies an action_

 _#_

 _One, two, three. One, two, three._

Sweat dripped down Alli's spine as she measured her breathing and moved through the steps again. She'd wanted to get in a quick practice before school started, but the morning was growing late and she would have to leave soon. One more time through the steps, then she'd go.

 _"If anyone says you can't do something, that's all the more reason to show them that you can do it ten times better than they ever could."_

 _Unless everyone really is better than me_ , Alli thought. _What am I supposed to do then, Dad?_ With every smooth step, she knew one thing for sure: she wished she could hear him answer her, just once.

The studio doors hissed open, but still Alli kept her focus. Only one other person would be here this early, so Alli wasn't worried.

"I appreciate your dedication," Instructor Maera said from somewhere behind her, "but I'm pretty sure I locked the studio when I left last night."

Alli kept her eyes closed as she maintained her pose. " _Locked_ is a relative term."

Instructor Maera chuckled softly, and Alli felt the cool air shift as she walked by.

Alli did her best to keep her arms steady—one in front and one behind her—at the same time she kept her right leg extended behind her and level with her hip while she balanced on the ball of her left foot. In her mind, she could see the three foam blocks she had lifted with each raised limb as she counted down the seconds from ten. When she reached zero, Alli opened her eyes and let her pose and the blocks drop.

She wiped her arm across her forehead and turned to see Instructor Maera leaning against the balance bar. "Sorry, Instructor," Alli said, only slightly out of breath. "I guess I lost track of the time."

"It's fine, Alli," she said. Alli grabbed her bag and took out a towel to put around her neck. Instructor Maera's smile turned down as Alli turned to walk toward the door. "The invitation stands, you know. For the recital. You've improved tremendously and you should be proud of it."

Alli resisted an annoyed sigh and paused, looking back at Instructor Maera. "It's not a big deal," she said. "Mom said no. I get it."

She really did. And with just the two of them now . . . well, that would just make things worse for both of them if Alli got sent away, and standing on a stage and demonstrating her biotics for all to see wasn't the best way to make sure she stayed undetected by the Alliance. Mom was just barely starting to be okay again, ever since that night Alli called Ms. Dess. What would happen if Alli went away too? She shrugged that thought away, not wanting to entertain it too long.

Still, it felt so unfair. She'd heard from her classmates that some scouts from a few big schools were going to be there. When Alli started these lessons, she was so far behind everyone else and she had to work three times as hard just to catch up. And now, she was so sure she'd at least measure up with the rest. Show them that a human could master biotics just as well as anyone. Better even. But showing everyone would require, well, _showing_ them. So she'd be in the audience the night of the recital instead of on the stage.

Instructor Maera nodded and walked forward to put a hand on Alli's shoulder. "It's natural to want to perform with the rest of the class. It's okay to feel disappointed."

Alli fished around in her bag until she found her water bottle and drank deeply. When her stomach grumbled, Instructor Maera pulled a protein bar out of her own bag and handed it to her. Alli took it but didn't open it. Despite the rumbling, she didn't feel like eating. She just wanted to get out of there and go to school before she was late.

"You need to keep your calorie intake commensurate with the amount you've been practicing," Instructor Maera said.

"I know," Alli said, pocketing the bar. "I think my mom packed food for me already. Thanks, though."

Before Instructor Maera could give her anymore well-meaning advice, Alli turned sharply toward the door and walked quickly to the locker room to clean up before hurrying to class.

When she entered the halls of the school, she turned down the hallway and half-jogged toward the library. A quick scan around the study area and she found Kardi with her face lit softly by the haptic interface of her 'tool, a small crease in her forehead as she concentrated on whatever it was she was reading. Alli sat heavily in the chair opposite Kardi and brought up her own 'tool.

"You're almost late." Kardi glanced up and half smiled before looking back at her 'tool. "Watch your hair. It's still dripping."

Alli shrugged one shoulder and navigated through a couple dozen levels of folders until she found the file she was looking for. Lines of code scrolled in front of her until she found the spot where she'd left off the day before. Her stomach rumbled again, and she reached into her bag for the protein bar Instructor Maera had given her while the code loaded.

"I've still got a few minutes before class," Alli said, biting into the chewy mass that fell disappointingly short of tasting anything like the chocolate its wrapper had advertised. "A little progress is better than no progress at all."

The crease in Kardi's forehead returned. "I'm pretty sure you're gonna get caught doing that sooner or later. I don't imagine the Alliance just _doesn't_ notice someone playing around with the firewalls to their fighters' VIs."

Alli sighed. They'd already had this conversation more times than she cared to count. "Dr. Ramirez said I needed to take on a project that was for me and not for school, so really, I'm just following doctor's orders. And besides, I'm not doing anything to the code. I'm just reading it."

Kardi rolled her eyes—a gesture so new and human, it made Alli's stomach tie itself in knots. "I know you, and I know you're not going to stop at just reading. Eventually, you'll want to experiment. It'll be something small at first, but then your curiosity will get the better of you." She tilted her head and shook a finger at Alli, the tone of warning in her voice both mocking and serious. "It's just a matter of time before you get caught."

Alli frowned. "It's not _all_ their fighters, just my mom's, Rosie Two. I'm not gonna do anything that could . . . maybe just tap into the camera feeds or something. Just so I can check on her when she's deployed. If I need to."

 _Just in case._ Like, what if being away from home meant Mom started to get sad again? Alli might not be able to do anything about it, but at least she'd _know_. And what if she got in trouble during a flight? What if her fighter went down and no one knew about it, and—

Kardi reached a hand across the table and rested it on Alli's. The warmth of her palm on the back of Alli's hand made the skin there tingle, and Alli looked up, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks. Kardi held Alli's gaze, and her voice was low and steady, comforting. "She'll be fine. She doesn't face the same kind of danger your dad did."

Alli's throat grew tight and she swallowed. "I . . . I know. It's just . . . she just got back from her last tour, and the whole time she was gone I felt so useless. Like if anything _did_ happen, I'd never know the details because they'd be classified like they were with . . ." Alli shook her head and frowned. "Drescher would just show up one day and say she's . . . If I can just get into her live feed . . ." Between the sudden urge to hold Kardi's hand and the dull throb of grief and the sharper stab of worry, Alli had to take a couple breaths before she could say anything else. "I don't want to spend another one of her tours feeling like that."

Kardi was quiet for a moment and then nodded, taking back her hand. "We can have an all-day study session on our free day. No one will be here, so it'll be quiet." She grinned. "You can be a criminal mastermind in peace."

Alli discreetly brushed the back of her hand as she closed her 'tool. "Yeah," she said. "That could work. I can figure out a lot of the code with a block of time like that."

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she readjusted her bag as she got ready to head to class.

"Alli?" Kardi's voice was a little higher than it had been, and a faint purple flush colored her cheeks. "What, um, what are you doing over the break? The one at the end of the year?"

Alli shrugged. "That's five months from now. I dunno. Getting ready to stay with Ms. Sana and Ms. Dess again? I think my mom is shipping out around that time."

"Would you want . . . I mean, would your mom be okay if . . ." She took a deep breath and started again. "Mom and I are going to Thessia. Some big food festival thing in Armali. I don't know anyone there, so she said I could bring a friend. Do you . . . do you want to go?"

Alli's voice got stuck in her throat and she had to clear it to say anything at all. "Me? You want me to go?"

The flush in Kardi's cheeks deepened almost to lavender. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, but I thought it would be fun."

Alli couldn't remember the last time her feet had been on solid ground, but that possibility paled in comparison to the prospect of getting to spend so much time with Kardi. "Um, yeah," she said, feeling a wide smile pulling at her cheeks. "I have to ask my mom, but yeah, I think that would be a lot of fun."

A relieved smile spread across Kardi's face, making Alli's heart jump. A million questions raced through her mind, but the bell warning the start of first period rang before she could get any of them out. Then they were off in different directions to different classes, and Alli knew her concentration would be completely shot for at least the morning, if not the rest of the day.

Why had Kardi invited _her_? She could've asked Segundus. Well, he was dextro, so maybe not, since it was a food festival. But Lessa was an asari too and would've blended in better—or maybe not since she didn't like crowds of people. That had to be it. Alli could eat the food and handle the crowds.

But Kardi had looked really happy when Alli said she wanted to go. And she'd blushed the whole time. Was she . . . did she, maybe, like Alli? Like, _like_ like? Alli had done her best to ignore her crush on Kardi ever since the Gerald incident, but maybe . . . Alli saw human and asari couples on the Citadel all the time. Maybe Alli could ask Kardi to be her . . . girlfriend? She'd have to figure out a better word, but the thought that Kardi might like her back had Alli's heart pounding and her cheeks burning in a blush she just knew everyone could see.

The day passed in a haze. Even at lunch, she and Kardi were hesitant around each other. She was still trying to figure out her own thoughts and feelings when she got home and sat at her desk. Doing any kind of homework was impossible, though, and she had no idea how much time passed before the smell of dinner broke through her consciousness and made her stomach grumble.

She hopped down the stairs and found Mom and Ms. Dess in the kitchen, separating food onto a row of three plates. On the counter, steam curled out of the open bags of take-out. Mom's shoulders shook, apparently laughing at something Ms. Dess had said.

Mom turned around and smiled brightly at Alli. "There she is," she said. "I was about to call you to dinner. Why don't you set the table while we get the rest of this ready?"

Alli was about to ask why Mom and Ms. Dess weren't out running like they usually did on Thursdays, but then she caught sight of the brace on Mom's knee and decided against it. That explained the take-out too. On days when Mom's knee hurt too much to run, Ms. Dess usually picked up something to eat for everyone, and tonight it was tacos from this levo place on the other side of the ward. They made this spicy pink sauce that made Alli's mouth water just thinking about it. Ms. Dess was getting pretty good at picking out human food.

Alli hadn't known what she wanted to happen when she called Ms. Dess that night so many months ago. Part of her had wanted to hear yelling and see some dramatic display of explosive emotion. Mom might as well have been a corpse after Dad died, and Alli just needed to see her react to _something_ , to know that she still could. She'd already lost Dad; she couldn't lose Mom too.

But that's not what happened—not like that anyway.

She'd paced her room, her stomach twisting itself in knots, while she listened to the muffled voices on the other side of the wall. It seemed like they talked for hours, but it was probably only half an hour or so. Then they'd grown quiet, and after another ten minutes, she ventured a peek outside her room. Ms. Dess was coming out of Mom's room and closing the door behind her. She'd glanced up to see Alli watching her and nodded in her direction.

Ms. Dess had walked down the hall to her side and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. "She'll be okay," she'd promised, her voice low and quiet so that they didn't wake Mom. "Han is the most determined person I've ever met." She paused before continuing. "She won't be the same, but she will be okay."

Alli had felt like a dreadnought lifted from her shoulders, and she smiled weakly. If Ms. Dess said Mom would be okay, then she would be—no one knew Mom like she did. And after that night, after Mom started sleeping and eating again, she really did seem to come back to life. She'd even started laughing again.

Like she was right now with Ms. Dess.

Mom bumped her shoulder into Ms. Dess's arm playfully before reaching for one of the bags and pulling out another container. When she opened it and started to arrange the food the third plate, Alli quizzed herself to recognize it: _talaka_ , which was, as far as Alli could tell, kinda like tacos but with more meat and no cheese.

Alli took a deep breath and inhaled all the different aromas mixing in the small kitchen. It hadn't taken long for the strange scents of the food Ms. Dess ate to become some of Alli's favorites; there was something about them that smelled homey, something sweet and even spicy and warm, and Alli was disappointed every time she couldn't have any of it. The one time she'd let her curiosity get the better of her was not an experience she wanted to repeat.

As Mom and Ms. Dess finished putting the food on the plates, Alli started gathering utensils and cups to set the table in the dining room. They'd gotten some turian dishes too, since Ms. Dess ate dinner with them about half the time now, as long as she didn't have a late shift at C-Sec. Alli got the feeling Ms. Dess was still afraid Mom might crumble again if she looked away for too long. Sometimes Alli saw her still looking at Mom even when Mom was turned away, like she wanted to stay ready to catch Mom if she fell again.

Mom really _did_ seem to be doing better, and she also seemed happiest whenever Ms. Dess was around. Everything felt like it was starting to go back to normal—whatever "normal" was without Dad around. Alli had exactly zero regrets about making that call in the middle of the night.

Mom came from around the corner holding two plates, Ms. Dess close behind her with her own meal. "How was school?" Mom asked as she set down the food and went back to the kitchen.

"Fine," Alli said. She tried to stop it, but her thoughts started to turn toward Kardi again. Well, no time like the present to deal with at least one question. "Um, so I guess Kardi and her mom are going to Thessia during the break, and, uh, she wants to know if I can go with them."

Mom reappeared around the corner with a look of surprise on her face as she used a dish towel to dry her hands. "To _Thessia_?"

Alli nodded. "Yeah, there's some kind of festival."

"That must be the Festival of Janiris," Ms. Dess offered. "It only happens every three hundred years. You'll never get another chance to see it firsthand. Sana plans to go too."

Mom hummed and took a drink of her water. "I guess if Sana will be there, I feel better about you going." Alli jumped up from her chair ready to throw her arms around Mom, but Mom held up a hand to stop her. "Before I say yes, though, I have a question for you."

Alli's breath caught in her chest and she felt her muscles tighten as she slowly sat back down. "Yeah, okay."

"Rosie Two told me someone has been trying to breach her firewalls," Mom said. "But none of the other fighters seem to be having that problem. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"Rosie Two?" Alli said weakly, knowing full well the name of her mom's fighter. Her mind raced to cling to some kind of explanation or deflection. "Maybe she needs a diagnostic check? I hope no one is trying to hack into her."

Her attempt at evasion failed miserably.

Mom sighed and leaned forward, resting on her elbows and folding her hands together. "You're not in trouble, Alli. But you could be. If someone besides me found out what you were doing, it would look like cyberterrorism, not curiosity." Alli started to respond—she wasn't doing anything! she just wanted to see the code!—but Mom held up her hand to stop her again. "Promise me you'll drop it and you can go to Thessia with Kardi. I'll forget what I saw and clear the alert from Rosie Two's logs."

Alli nodded vigorously. "Yes! Okay, I promise!" She nearly tripped out of her chair in her excitement that it had been so easy to get Mom to agree. "I'm gonna go call Kardi right now!"

She was nearly to the stairs when Mom called after her, "What about your dinner?"

Alli's stomach rumbled and she froze in her tracks. And wow, those tacos really did smell good. She turned and slid quickly back into her chair, already scooping up and biting into one of the tacos before she'd settled. As much as she wanted to tell Kardi everything immediately, Alli's hunger demanded satisfaction first.

Ms. Dess chuckled as Alli crunched through one taco after another. "Slow down, kid. Eat your food, don't breathe it."

Alli didn't have time to respond, and with a mouth full of food, it probably would've been messy if she'd tried. As soon as the last bite of her fifth taco was gone, she sprang from her chair and bounded up the stairs to her room, completely ignoring Mom's warnings against running while eating. She did slow down enough to swallow the last of her food and wipe her face of any crumbs before pinging Kardi, though. Alli's heart raced, and she wasn't sure if it was excitement or nervousness. _Can it be both?_ she wondered.

Kardi squealed when Alli told her the news, and after a few moments of mutual excitement, Kardi started to list all the things Alli would have to do before they left. A passport, visa, vaccinations—it was a good thing she had months to get ready. By the time they disconnected, she had started to come down from her pleased high, and the promise she'd made to stop messing around with Rosie Two's VI codes decided to push its way to the front of her mind again.

 _Snag._

She'd have to review her notes to see where she might've tripped Rosie Two's security. It must've been a low-level error, something that the VI classified as nonthreatening, for the alert to go to Mom only. If Alli was just a little more careful, she could probably avoid that mistake again. As much as Alli didn't want to jeopardize her trip to Thessia with Kardi, she also knew she'd never be able to stand being left at home waiting and wondering if she'd ever see Mom again. She needed access to _something_. _Anything_.

But those thoughts started to weigh down her mood like gravity boots, so she decided to put them away for now. She could deal with them later when she had a clearer mind.

Alli bounced down the stairs again, wondering idly if there were any tacos left. The dining room was empty, though, and the table was only half cleared. Alli wandered back to the kitchen and found Mom leaning against the counter with her fingertips against her lips. She looked pale and didn't seem to notice that Alli was there. Alli's stomach began to twist.

"Mom?" Alli's heart pounded hard against her chest as she tried to fight off the worst thoughts about Mom falling back into how she was before. She waved a hand in front of Mom's face to get her attention. Mom shook her head and looked at Alli. "Is something wrong? You look . . . sick."

Mom blinked and shook her head. "Yeah. I mean no. I'm fine. Sorry, I was lost in thought I guess."

Alli looked around. "Where's Ms. Dess? Did she leave already?"

Mom turned and busied herself with cleaning the dishes in the sink. "Yeah," she said, her back to Alli. "She got a call from work and had to leave. Sorry you didn't get to say goodbye. What did Kardi have to say?"

Alli wanted to smile and be excited, but there was something in how Mom looked that was too much like how she was after Dad. Alli felt sick. "She, uh, she gave me a list of things to do before we go." Alli bit her lip and hesitated before continuing. "Mom, are you sure you're okay?"

Mom took a deep breath—not annoyed, but maybe steadying?—and turned around. She didn't have that put-on smile she sometimes had when she didn't want Alli to know how upset she was, so at least that was a good thing. She put a hand on Alli's hair and kissed her forehead. "You don't have to worry about me," she said. "I have a few things on my mind, that's all. Nothing too serious, I promise."

Alli wasn't sure if she fully believed Mom, but that line of anxiety in her shoulders had seemed to relax. Alli decided not to press the issue, but she'd keep an eye on Mom for a few days.

Maybe she didn't need to hack Rosie Two, after all. Maybe she should focus on Mom's hard suit's on-board computer. Then she'd know if Mom was okay by checking her vitals, even from the Citadel. She could even stream any video the suit recorded. Mom hadn't said no hacking at all, just no hacking Rosie Two.

Yeah. She'd start that project tomorrow.

#

Michael bolted awake, gasping and coughing as freezing water splashed across his face.

"Stop sulking and get the fuck up, Shepard." Greenwood was obviously talking loudly on purpose to aggravate the pulsing between his temples. "Jack's got an assignment for you."

If it hadn't been for the sudden sense of vertigo and nausea that hit him like a brick wall, Michael was sure he could've murdered Greenwood right then. It's not like anyone on Omega would care about another dead human in the gutter.

"Fuck off, Greenwood," he muttered and lay back down, not especially caring that the cold water made his pillow smell like a wet dog and alcohol-infused sweat. "Tell Jack to fuck off too."

He closed his eyes, but he heard her walk away and start banging around in the kitchen. Bitch.

"You've got quite the palace here, Major," she called, again talking much louder than was strictly necessary. "Jesus-fucking-Christ. I thought N7 types were supposed to be neat freaks. Have you even washed a dish since you got here?"

"Don't you have a date with a pole you have to get to?" Michael called without opening his eyes and winced as his head pounded at the sound of his own voice.

"It's called a shift, asshole, and it's good work. Any job on Omega that comes with Aria's protection is fucking gold," she said. Something crinkled and the sound of plastic containers opening told him she must be attempting to cook something. "You wouldn't believe the sensitive shit people tell dancers. Which is how you have an assignment in the first place. Seriously, Shepard. You've wallowed enough. It's time to start justifying that stupidly obscene stipend Jack keeps sending you for some reason."

Michael scowled. "I consider it payment for services already rendered." The smell of butter melting reached him and he had to close his eyes and swallow about a dozen times to keep everything on the inside.

"Listen here, motherfucker," Greenwood said, her voice raising another octave. "You're not the only one who's never going to see their family again, who's never gonna see their—" If it had been anyone else, Michael would've thought he heard her voice break. Then she cleared her throat and went on, a little quieter but still too loud, "Boo-fucking-hoo. Get the fuck over yourself and get back to work." The sound of eggs cracking and sizzling filled the flat. "And clean this place up, for fuck's sake."

Michael groaned and sat up slowly. He couldn't give less of a shit about whatever or whoever Greenwood might've lost when everything went tits up, but it was clear she wasn't going to let up any time soon. It took a moment before his equilibrium returned, and then he shuffled into the kitchen and slumped onto a stool at the island.

She pointed to a glass full of some kind of thick, red liquid and said, "Drink. No complaints. Then no more drinking. You need a clear head for this assignment—which I think you're gonna like, by the way. You get to kill as many batarians as your poor little wounded heart desires without the Alliance jumping up your ass over politics or some shit."

He took up the glass, smelled the liquid, and immediately regretted it. There were hints of chili and honey and raw egg, but if he thought about it too much he'd have to start dry swallowing again. He opened his mouth to protest, but Greenwood held up the spatula she was holding to stop him.

"No. Fucking. Complaints," she said. "You've spent more nights than I can count sitting in that fucking booth at Afterlife putting God knows how much poison in your body. You can take five minutes to drink this shit to get it out."

Michael grimaced and looked at the contents of the glass. _Whatever_. He knocked back the largest gulp he could and covered his mouth to keep the spicy, slimy, viscous substance from coming back up. After a few deep breaths, he did it again, and then repeated until the glass was empty. Fucking finally. By the time he was done, Greenwood slid a plate of scrambled eggs and a pile of sausage links toward him.

"Grease and protein," she said, grinning. "Food of the hangover gods."

He squinted at the food and then at Greenwood. "Where did you get all this? I didn't have any of this before."

Greenwood piled food onto her own plate and took a bite of one of the links as she leaned against the far wall, holding her plate close to her chest. "I have a guy," she said around the food in her mouth. "He's a turian, but he's the only one who can get fresh apples with any kind of consistency around here. I figured you didn't have shit here besides boxes of that godawful nutrient paste and maybe some canned vat meat." She opened the tall cupboard to her right with her foot to reveal exactly how desolate his shelves were. "Guess I was right. What the fuck do you do with all those credits Jack pays you? At least get a cleaning service for this shithole."

Michael pushed the food around on his plate and took an experimental bite. When it stayed down, he felt more optimistic about the rest. Come to think of it, it really had been a while since he'd had any kind of real food like this.

Greenwood was right: he had a pretty healthy bank account at this point and didn't have to live in his self-imposed squalor. Well, healthy minus the twenty grand some fucking salarian made off with after promising he could get Michael real-time access to the security feed of Han and Alli's neighborhood on the Citadel. If he ever saw that salarian again, he'd put a bullet between his eyes without a second thought. Fucking salarians. He supposed it served him right for trusting something that's literally slimy.

When his plate was empty, Michael pushed it aside and got up to use the bathroom.

"Whoa there, Major Messy," Greenwood stopped him. "Where does that dish go?"

He waved her away and continued onto the bathroom. "Go fuck yourself."

"I would," she said, glancing around the apartment with a look of disgust, "but I'm afraid I'd get a UTI if I did it anywhere in this fucking sty."

He stayed under the spray of the showerhead until the water turned cold, and he had to pause occasionally while getting dressed as his sense of balance fluctuated in functionality. By the time he finally pulled a shirt of dubious freshness over his head and ran his fingers through his wet hair instead of brushing it, he hoped Greenwood would've gotten bored and left, but no such luck. Instead, she sat at the kitchen table with datapads and a white envelope spread before her. His dirty plate was still where he left it, so he sighed, put it in the sink to deal with later, and sat opposite her, taking up the envelope and tearing it open haphazardly.

He read over the mission briefing quickly, skimming the details to get at the meat of his assignment.

"Recon," he said, his tone flat and unimpressed. "The point of recon is to gather information undetected. I thought you said something about killing batarians."

Greenwood chuckled. "Slow down there, killer. Recon is just the first part. If you'd kept reading, you'd know that. If you behave yourself, you just might even get to assassinate someone." She pushed forward the first datapad. "Batarians are building a lot of classified shit too damn close to a human colony. We're pretty sure they're preparing an operations base for large-scale raids." She slid forward another datapad, this one with a lot of blurry images taken from too high up to be clear. "Note the huge fucking cargo haulers. I reckon they could hold quite a few humans if they pack them in like fucking sardines."

He glanced at the intel in front of him and huffed. "Sounds like you guys have it all figured out. Why do you need me? Just bomb the shit out of the fuckers."

Greenwood shook her head. "No can do. Jack's getting pretty chummy with some Alliance higher ups. He does them a few convenient favors, they owe him. Right now, the guy asking for a favor doesn't want it looking like humans—Alliance or otherwise—had anything to do with it and wants an expert touch. And besides," she said and reached for the packet in front of Michael and tapped her finger on a bullet point. "We want to know specifics. Munitions. Troops. Plans. Specific orders if you can get them. But mostly who's in charge and where everything's coming from."

"Ah," Michael said. "I'm guessing that's where the assassination comes in."

Greenwood nodded. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a phial of a semi-clear liquid. "Premium STG shit right here, my friend."

Michael frowned. Fucking salarians. "STG? Since when is Cerberus in the habit of collaborating with those overgrown salamanders."

She barked a laugh. "I wouldn't call this a collaboration. It's closer to a frame-up job. Like Jack's friend said, no connection to humans. If you get sloppy or decide to drink on the job," she paused and looked at him pointedly with a raised eyebrow, and he rolled his eyes at her just as pointedly, "this little baby is the failsafe that wipes our trail clean."

Michael sneered. "I'm pretty sure I've heard that line before."

Greenwood set the phial down in front of Michael and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Go fuck yourself, Shepard. I already said I was sorry things went sideways on _Geneva_. I'm not gonna beat my chest over this shit forever. You were a big boy mole and you damn well knew the risks. You don't think I did my best to get you off clean anyway, whatever. That's your business. Just do your fucking job." She stood and picked up her bag. "Your transport leaves in ten hours. Get your shit together and your head on straight. You have a week to complete the assignment. If you don't get it done, Jack's going to reconsider your usefulness."

Greenwood finally left, and Michael breathed a sigh of relief. A part of him wanted to continue to be petulant and not care what Jack thought of him. But that hangover cure must've sobered him up enough for him to appreciate that would be a bad thing—for him, for Hannah and Alli, and as much as he wanted to not give a shit, for Greenwood.

He took up the phial and scanned it with his 'tool. No results. Must've been classified seven ways from Sunday. One of those datapads Greenwood had left behind probably had instructions for how to use it.

Almost on impulse, he pushed himself away from the table and went to the cupboard above the refrigerator . . . and was only mildly surprised to find it suddenly devoid of any of the bottles he'd had there. Greenwood must've cleaned him out before deploying her oh-so-gentle wakeup method. He took a deep breath and grudgingly admitted she was probably right. The next day or so was going to be fucking awful.

Well. _More_ awful than his days already were. He'd lost everything so quickly his head was still spinning, and not just from the hangover that had become a constant state.

If only Han hadn't found that 'tool and started asking questions. Granted, it was stupid of him to lose it in the first place, but why did she have to assume he was doing something illegal with it? Why couldn't she just have trusted he was only doing his job? Hell, she hadn't even considered that maybe he was having an affair, like a normal person. How could she have had so little trust in him?

If only she hadn't pushed him—pushed Cerberus—into this situation. Knowing what he did now about the roots Cerberus had set down throughout the Alliance, he was certain Greenwood was being genuine when she said she'd tried to get him off. He could've been a free man. He could've been at home with Han and Alli instead of keeping his head down in a shithole at the edge of the Terminus. He could've been helping Alli with her homework or cooking Han's favorite meal instead of rotting his insides with nutrient paste and whiskey. He could've been going to bed every night with his arm around his wife instead of drinking himself into a stupor heavy enough to chase away all thoughts of what he could've been doing right about now. And he'd never get any of that back.

He'd fucked up. He'd gotten sloppy and he got caught.

He sat heavily at the table and scrubbed his hands over his face. The mission debrief caught his eye and he pulled it back toward him. This time, he read it carefully and started to visualize the resources he would need, methods of ingress, contingencies, everything. It felt a bit like knocking rust off a wheel, but once he got started oh his mission prep, it felt like slipping into an old pair of comfortable clothes.

The datapad with the aerial photographs showed an interesting story; Greenwood was probably right about the batarians' plans for creating an operations base for raids.

The other datapad told another story—a horror story if no one did something. Greenwood had mentioned a human colony; according to the dossier, it was still incipient and primarily agricultural. The colonists were still trying to keep wildlife from their sapling crops; slavers who attacked quickly and mercilessly would make quick work of them. Worse, if some admiral or member of parliament was coming to Cerberus for help? Clearly, the Alliance either wasn't interested or wasn't equipped to help. Either way, the future looked bleak for the colonists if someone—if Michael—didn't do something.

Besides, wasn't the whole reason he'd lost everything and everyone he cared about because he was trying to protect people like this?

Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Greenwood was right.

Time to get back to work.

/

 _As ever, I am forever grateful to pagerunner, servantofclio, and thievinghippo for their brilliant beta work 3_


End file.
